by Tyler Sjostrom
On an August morning almost six years ago, my wife and I found ourselves giving each other the sort of ineffective kitchen pep-talk we’d someday ineffectively give our sons. “I think I’ll keep it together,” I lied. “I think he’ll do really well there,” my wife told herself (and me, to a lesser extent). And then we loaded 9-month-old Ellis into the car and drove in total silence to his first morning of daycare.
Two weeks from this writing, our younger son, Theo, will wrap up his own tenure in daycare. In so doing, my wife and I will put a bow on the tender period when our boys went from diapers to pull-ups to regular old skivvies. We no longer have kids in daycare. We made it. And as this chapter comes to a close, I find myself digging through a mixed bag of emotions.
On one hand, I won’t miss the sheer cost, which crept well over $2,000 per month when both boys were enrolled. On the other, we sure got a great return on that investment.
For new parents sending a kid to daycare, you tend to grow on a parallel track to the child you’re dropping off. We all go into the experience pretty green, and core skills are being developed by all parties involved. Our lads went from functional helplessness to being responsible young citizens of the planet; after these six years, I must say that I can relate.
This came to mind as I watched my older son’s 5k graduation a few days ago. Many online commenters will tell you that ceremonies such as these are pointless and unnecessary, and I can certainly understand why someone might feel that way. I disagree, but I understand.
But mileposts such as these – an end of daycare enrollment here, a 5k ceremony there – don’t just signal an era’s end for the kids in question, not by a long shot. Watching our son beaming and searching for our faces among the multitude, it felt for a minute like my wife and I were graduating as well.
We were graduating from a time when going out to dinner usually meant chasing our kids around a restaurant for an hour before bringing our food home in a box. From a time when their world wasn’t nearly as big as it’s about to become. From a time when the questions they ask don’t sometimes come with hard answers. It’s a bittersweet graduation, is what I’m saying.
That’s the dance I’ve been doing as I’ve prepared myself for what comes next. I love that our kids are dressing themselves and cleaning their messes with some frequency. Truly, I do. But I also know this means I’m going to be needed less, and I can’t say I’ve hated being needed. And while I love seeing my guys become independent in ways big and small, I can’t say I love what it ultimately means.
“I can’t wait until our kids are out of daycare,” I used to say. I suppose I probably meant it. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t grateful for the experience and grateful to the teachers who did such a fantastic job of getting us all here. It doesn’t mean we won’t miss it.
The world turns, and dominos continue to drop. That’s the way of it. And next fall, I’ll be dropping off both boys at a real school, with backpacks and recess, and a whole new list of mileposts to clear.
I think I’ll keep it together. I think they’ll do really well there.
This article was originally published in the July 2025 issue of Appleton Monthly Magazine.
