That’s a Wrap!

After 34 years in childcare, I did not sell my center because I wanted to. I sold because the system made it increasingly difficult to continue.

For decades, I did everything DHS asked of me. I became one of the first 2-Star centers in my county when the Star system was introduced. I earned additional credentials when master teachers became a requirement. I ensured my staff completed increasing training hours, maintained compliance with new regulations, achieved 5-Star status, and earned national accreditation. During COVID, we adapted yet again, providing virtual learning support and continuing to serve working families during one of the most difficult periods our industry has ever faced.

Every time DHS raised the bar, I met it. Every time new requirements were introduced, I invested in my program, my teachers, and my facility. I believed quality childcare mattered.

What I did not expect was for DHS to continually increase expectations while reducing the financial support needed to meet them. Subsidy reductions, eligibility changes, and unfunded mandates created a situation where providers were expected to deliver more services, hire more qualified staff, offer better benefits, maintain higher standards, and somehow do it with less revenue.

Quality childcare is expensive to provide. We were told to invest in continuity of care, teacher education, accreditation, and quality improvement. We did. Then the funding that helped support those efforts was taken away.

The reality is simple: childcare centers cannot operate at a loss. When government policies make quality care financially unsustainable, providers are left with two choices—lower their standards or leave the industry. I chose not to compromise the quality of care I spent 34 years building.

I was fortunate to have interested buyers and was able to sell. Many providers will not be so lucky. They will simply close their doors.

DHS says its mission is to support children and families. From where I stand, its policies are driving experienced providers out of the field and making quality childcare harder to find. After 34 years of adapting, complying, investing, and fighting to stay afloat, DHS did not just influence my decision to sell—it ultimately made it necessary.

Raven Carter,  Yukon OK

Monday Was Yesterday, Right?

One thing nobody told me about retirement is how fast time would go.

When I was working, it felt like it took forever for Friday to arrive. Monday would show up, and by Wednesday I was already wondering if Friday had gotten lost. The days were filled with schedules, deadlines, meetings, phone calls, and a hundred things demanding my attention. Some afternoons felt like they lasted a week all by themselves, and 6:00 p.m. seemed to take forever to get here.

Now, the weeks seem to disappear.

The funny thing is, it’s not because I’m sitting around doing nothing. I’ve actually been keeping busy. There are doctor appointments, grandkids staying the night, swimming, shopping, lunches with friends, day dates with my husband, and visits with my mom. I’ve done lots of cleaning and prep work for moving, and I’ve even stopped by the daycare to help with various things when they need an extra hand.

Somewhere between all of that, Monday turns into Friday.

I used to think retirement would feel slow. Instead, it feels like life just shifted gears. The clock hasn’t changed, but how I spend my time has. These days, my calendar is filled with people I love instead of things I have to do.

Still, if someone could explain how it’s already June, I’d appreciate it.

The Guilt Hat

I'm putting it away!

I’ve come to the conclusion that I spend a lot of my life wearing what I call the guilt hat. The guilt hat is invisible, but trust me, it’s there. It’s the hat that magically appears every time someone else’s problem lands in my lap. Suddenly, I’m wondering if I should do more, call more, help more, fix more, worry more, or somehow become personally responsible for things that were never mine to manage in the first place.

The crazy part is that nobody hands me this hat. I put it on myself. Someone is unhappy? I reach for the guilt hat. Someone made a bad decision? Here comes the guilt hat. Someone’s life is a mess? Let me see if my guilt hat matches my outfit.

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that being a good person meant carrying things that don’t belong to us. We confuse caring with carrying, and they are not the same thing. I can care about you without fixing your life. I can love you without solving your problems. I can support you without making your responsibilities my responsibilities.

What I’ve finally realized is that not every problem is mine to solve, not every burden is mine to carry, and not every crisis requires my involvement. Just because something lands in front of me doesn’t mean I’m required to pick it up.

These days I’m trying to retire the guilt hat. Not because I don’t care, but because I’ve learned that carrying everyone else’s worries doesn’t make me a better friend, mother, spouse, or person. It just makes me tired.

Turns out the guilt hat was never a requirement. It was just an accessory I forgot I could take off.

Aged to Perfection

I’ve reached that stage of life where I no longer want my picture taken. Not because I’m ashamed of how I look or trying to hide from the camera. It’s because every time I see a picture of myself, I think, “Who is that woman?” In my head, I’m still me—the same personality, the same sense of humor, and the same person I’ve always been.

The strange thing about aging is that it sneaks up on you. One day you’re taking pictures, and the next you’re volunteering to be the photographer. Women have it the worst. Everywhere you look, someone is reversing, freezing, fighting, injecting, lifting, tightening, or filtering aging until they resemble a startled cartoon character. Apparently we’re supposed to spend retirement trying to look like we just graduated college.

I don’t want to look 22. I survived 22. I paid my dues for these laugh lines. I earned every gray hair, wrinkle, and reminder that I’ve actually lived a life. That doesn’t mean I want to let myself go. I still want to look nice and take care of myself. But there’s a huge difference between looking younger and looking good for your age.

Somewhere along the way, society decided “for your age” was an insult. I think it should be a compliment. Looking good for your age means you made it to your age. Not everyone gets that opportunity.

The truth is there has never been a fountain of youth, and there never will be. The choices are pretty simple: die young or live long enough to get old. That’s it. Yet somehow we’ve convinced women that aging is a personal failure instead of a privilege.

And people age differently. Some are blessed with great genetics; some aren’t. Some spent years in the sun; some didn’t. Some wrinkle, sag, or turn gray at 30. Some never do. None of those things make someone better than anyone else.

Maybe it’s time for a new motto. Not anti-aging. Not age-defying. Not forever young. Those are all marketing slogans designed to make us feel bad enough to buy something.

I say the new motto should be: Aged to Perfection. Because perfection isn’t looking 30 when you’re 60. Perfection is reaching an age where you finally stop apologizing for looking exactly the age that you are!