Alice In Daycareland Comments

A little girl with chestnut brown hair and misty, blue lagoon eyes is staring at a door, which, to her developing mind is more of an entrance than an exit. Big people put little people here and forget about them for weeks, months, often years at a time. Alice in Daycareland. Monday through Friday, sometimes Saturday, down the rabbit hole, plunged into a strange place with locked doors, a labeled bottle and tears—a flood of tears—as parents rush away, always late for a very important date. These are her first memories.

A clock, meaningless to children her age moves to snack time. Then to story time. A trace of chocolate milk and cookie crumbs stick to silent, unanimated lips as she finally falls asleep on the napping mat. Clutching a pink blanket that smells like home, she anticipates the first parental touch of the day, so fast, so fleeting, faintly perfumed, when her tired, distracted mother tucks her in at night, the highlight of each and every day.
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