The week from hell, part 2

I think I'm ready to talk about it. The week from hell, part 2:   Until last week, my summer childcare consisted of a very flexible work schedule and a preschool day camp at the YMCA, overlapped with the services of the babysitter we've used to varying degrees since Bear (my kidlet) was 8 months old.    So last Tuesday, Dee came over at lunch on a whim. Bear was at the camp, and she was looking to cheer me up because the day before we found out we weren't having another baby.   Dee and I headed to the mall - got manicures and strolled around. Something I haven't done in... ack, I can't remember. Not this year.    We were heading home, feeling good, Dee asked if we could stop in and see Bear at his camp and say"Hi". She hadn't seen him in, like, a week. So we dropped in at the "Y" unannounced at about 1PM.   The preschooler camp room is at the front of "Y", attached to a little playground. We could see it was empty before we got there.   The "Preschool Camp Director" was sitting alone, in front of her computer. She didn't hear us approach and jumped when I called her name.   "Hey, PCD, where's my son?" I asked.   She told us that it was too hot for the kids to play outside so she'd sent them to let out some steam in the racquetball courts.   So Dee and I headed off to the racquetball courts at the back of the building. PCD quickly caught up with us, telling us that it was nice and cool in there yada yada yada.   We got to the racquetball court and peeked in the little window.   The kids were not moving. They were quietly seated in little clusters in the corners. In the center of the room, a teenaged boy was instructing one of the kids how to use a little toy basketball hoop. Dee and I scanned the room. The were no adults.   We watched for about 1 minute, watched my son yawn three times. The teenaged "camp counselor" kept playing with the one kid. The other 21 kids, including Bear, sat. Drooped.  Sitting against the walls. Not allowed to talk with each other. With - did Imention this? - no ADULT in the soundproof, locked, racquetball court.   If ever there was a moment when I felt like all my standards as a parent had been failed, it was that one. Fury whipped in me like a sudden storm.   "Are you taking him home?" PCD asked me.   "YES" Dee and I answered in unison.   Dee happens to love children as an active career; she is an advocate, witness and counselor to the children in the State's care. She's the one who instinctively counted the adult:child ratio. When Bear saw us through the window, he came running. The teenager let him out of the room and Dee picked him up  and we left.   I know what we saw wasn't torture. I'm not trying to make too much out of what was, legally,  just a lapse in childcare standards and the care ratio. Sure, it was a bad situation that could have been a disaster in one easy motion. But mostly I'm just  pissed with myself - my gut told me long ago that Bear wasn't getting good care there and I didn't do anything.      Bear was just relieved to be having fun with Dee back at home. Meanwhile, I called and eventually had a meeting with the executive director of the Y. My concern was those other kids who were also locked up in a racquetball court with a 200lb teenager. What other operational lapses are occuring and what's being done to fix them and address the risks?   I forgot to mention it, but I'm probably also gonna want a refund.   Come to think of it, that's probably why PCD called me to "sort this out" and beg Bear to return (oh yes, yes she did).   When hell freezes over, PCD. Bear has left the building and he's not coming back. You're just lucky that I know it's me that's more to blame.  You're just lucky that I KNOW I'm an overly sensitive mother. Trust me when I advised you to take your medicine quietly and be grateful I'm busy with the self-recrimination.    Because, in your own small careless unthinking way,  you fucked with my kid. And there is no measure to the level of fury I can unleash if I dwell on that.   *ahem*   So, anyway, that's why I suddenly don't have enough child care.