Littlest learners

Detroit has low-income families needing preschools — and preschools needing low-income families. They don’t always connect

PHOTO: Francesca Berardi

This story was reported by the Teacher Project, an education journalism fellowship at Columbia Journalism School dedicated to covering the issues facing public school families and teachers.

When Monica Hernandez moved to southwest Detroit last spring from California, she headed to her local Head Start center to enroll her two young children, who are 1 and 4. Hernandez, 21, wanted childcare so she would have time to go back to school and earn her GED. She also hoped that with Head Start—the half-century-old federal program that provides low-income pre-kindergarteners with free education, health, and nutrition services—she would help prepare her children academically and socially for kindergarten.

At the Head Start center at Harms Elementary School, Hernandez made an appointment to discuss enrolling her kids, but the meeting never happened. “They just kept postponing it, and then they never called me back,” she said. “I just gave up.”

teacher-project

At a time when cities and states across the country are trying to expand publicly funded preschool programs, the stories of Detroit families like Hernandez’ show how simply adding publicly funded seats for the littlest learners is not enough—particularly when it comes to low-income families who often have the most to benefit from quality early childhood education programs.

Of the roughly 30,000 low-income children below the age of five in Detroit, only about 3,900 are enrolled in a Head Start program. Funding for about 850 Head Starts slots goes unused. Some parents don’t know of the program’s existence; others struggle to navigate a complicated landscape of Head Start providers with impenetrable enrollment procedures. The experience in Detroit shows that serving more of the country’s youngest students depends not only on expanding access, but getting much better information to the most disconnected communities and parents. (Head Start is federally funded, but delivered by hundreds of local agencies that can be public, private, for-profit or non-profit.)

“The struggle to fill vacant seats is something you could not even imagine in other cities…where the waiting lists are interminable,” says Maria Montoya, who works for Excellent Schools Detroit, an organization devoted to helping families traverse Detroit’s education landscape.

Though Hernandez eventually found a spot for her children in another Head Start center run by an agency called Matrix, her initial problem—wanting Head Start seats and struggling to get them—is frustrating to many people working in that sector. Laura Lefever, who runs the Children’s Center, a Head Start program in northwest Detroit, has more seats available than pupils to fill them. “Where are the children?” she asks, staring at a chart showing the number of vacant seats in the center she oversees.

Lefever’s program is in a neighborhood with a large number of single, working parents in desperate need of childcare. Yet 10 of the seats at the Children’s Center haven’t been filled. “I am becoming a walking billboard,” Lefever says, pointing to her red T-shirt with the name of the school on it. “I carry flyers everywhere.”

The reasons for the Head Start vacancies are numerous, intertwined, and contain valuable lessons for a nation hoping to better serve its youngest students.

Many parents, particularly those who were underserved by the education system themselves, don’t understand the value of early childhood programs—or remain unaware of their existence. This can be especially true in states where even 5-year-old kindergarten is optional. “They don’t realize the impact early education can have, and the importance of learning how to support your children’s studies in the years to come,” says Lefever. “Head Start is not a parking space for babies but the beginning of a journey. It is for parents just as much as for children.”

While the research and policy world remains divided on the quality of Head Start, studies have shown that it can have a positive significant impact over the long term. Children who participate are more likely to earn a high school diploma and less likely to be convicted of a crime. While traditional Head Start programs serve kids once they turn three, Early Head Start enrolls younger children. Some Head Start centers in Detroit also offer Early Head Start, but parents tend to be even less aware of the programs for younger children.

Sheritta Dew might never have discovered Head Start if she hadn’t gone back to school herself. “When I had my first child I did not know about these programs,” said Dew, 21, who has a three- and a one-year-old, and is six months pregnant with a third child. But when someone at her GED center mentioned Head Start, Dew realized she had more options than keeping her children at home. They’re now enrolled at a Head Start center in southwestern Detroit, not far from the homeless shelter where the family lives.

Dew’s three-year-old spent his first two years at home, where he didn’t have nearly as much exposure to educational activities. “I just regret that my son wasn’t here sooner, he could have learned a lot more,” she says. But after hard times in the past, Dew feels that her life is on an upswing. Staying at the homeless shelter means she doesn’t need to worry about where her family will find its next meal, and social workers are helping her to find an apartment. Most important, her children seem content and engaged. “They look happier since they started,” she said.

 

* * *

While parental reluctance and lack of awareness play a role in keeping Detroit’s Head Start centers underoccupied, a blurry enrollment process doesn’t help the matter.

The city administered the Head Start program for about half a century, from the 1960s to 2012. At that point, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services announced it no longer wanted the city to distribute the money because of longstanding issues, including mismanagement of funds. In 2014, control over the program was handed over to a variety of local organizations and nonprofits that now run the centers, a more typical model from a national perspective.

There are a number of different factors that determine Head Start eligibility, which can vary slightly from center to center, with some exemptions permitted. A child’s family income typically needs to be at or below the federal poverty guidelines of $16,000 for a family of two and roughly $20,000 for a family of three. Other factors that must be taken into consideration are homelessness, disability, and the English language proficiency of the family. But some others factors, like the age or the employment status of the parents, depend on local needs and context. In a neighborhood with a rapidly growing number of refugee youngsters, for instance, they might receive greater preference than they would in other areas.

Skeptics say this system not only confuses parents but allows for a fuzziness that less-than-scrupulous operators can exploit: turning away families they should serve by saying they don’t meet the enrollment criteria. Some center operators are far less responsive and helpful than Lefever.

The complicated, and not always transparent, enrollment process can be particularly detrimental for the most vulnerable kids: those with special needs. Head Start centers are required to enroll at least 10 percent of children with special needs, but according to parents and center operators some make it clear that they are not able to accept students with more severe disabilities.

Tina Edwards, the enrollment coordinator at the Children’s Center, recalls a three-year-old who had been in a car accident and couldn’t walk as a result. “Another school told her parents that they could not accommodate their need based on her handicap,” Edwards said. “We welcomed her here. One bad encounter can affect how families feel about the Head Start program as a whole.”

In order to win parents’ trust, engaging them is a priority. “One of the ways to address the enrollment issue is to empower parents, involve them in the process and ask them to spread the world about the program,” says Kaitlin Ferrick, director of the Michigan Head Start Collaboration Office. “The peer to peer review is always effective,” she adds. This is particularly true in Detroit, where many residents have grown to distrust official sources after decades of being underserved.

* * *

In a city where a population of roughly 700,000 is spread out over 140 square miles, geography and transportation form another barrier to access. Until recently children had to be enrolled in a center located in the zip code where they lived, which was not always the closest one to their home. They usually couldn’t switch zip codes unless all of the programs in their own area were full—something that happens very seldom in Detroit. However, new standards implemented earlier last month create more flexibility. While Detroit Head Start operators are still waiting to see if the new standards will help solve their problems, they do allow centers to more frequently enroll children in the zip code where parents work, not live if center operators can show they’ve made every effort possible to recruit families who reside in their zip code.

Parents often prefer sending their children to centers near where they work, especially those who don’t find a spot in a full-day program. Some travel more than an hour on buses with unreliable schedules to get to their jobs. “You really need to be unemployed, or have someone who helps you, in order to enroll your child for three hours a day” in a half-day program, says Melanie Ford, a 34-year-old mother of two.

After a “challenging” nine months spent trying to enroll her daughter in a quality and convenient Head Start center, she finally settled on one she disliked because it was the only one with an open full-day slot. (Full day programs typically run from 8 a.m. to 3 or 4 p.m.) “There were no many activities, children were not learning as they should,” she said, noting that staff members didn’t interact with the kids as much as she wanted. She was eventually able to move her daughter to another center in the same zip code where she learns a lot more. “She is always smiling now. But I tell you: You gotta be really consistent to enroll your kid in school.”

Even those working families who find “full day” programs may struggle with the limited hours—another deterrent to enrollment. Some may eschew Head Start and opt for private, home-based child care centers as a result.

Nobles has been working in Head Start programs since 1999 and has first-hand experience of how valuable early childhood education can be, having attended a Head Start center herself. She loves her job, yet sometimes she has to confront hard challenges.

According to a 2015 report funded by the Kresge Foundation, Detroit has 6,684 full-day, full-year licensed slots in schools and centers for children ages three to five— a number that meets only 29 percent of the demand. Roughly 16 percent of available child care in the city is comprised of family child care homes, most of it unlicensed. This type of private child care has played a historic role in Detroit communities where families have learned not to rely too heavily on government-run services. But it is not subject to any kind of inspection, even if partially subsidized through publicly funded vouchers.

“The collection of data on early childhood education in Detroit is still challenging, the Head Start program included,” said Kaitlin Ferrick. This can be true in many big cities, but Detroit, according to Ferrick, offers “an extreme example.” Competition among providers doesn’t make the data gathering any easier, with agencies sometimes competing for the same teachers, social workers and facilities.

There is some cause for hope. Ten foundations in the Southeast Michigan Early Childhood Funders Collaborative, which formed in 2010, have invested more than $50 million into the region’s early childhood programs since 2012. The fund has helped spur innovative, collaborative ways to help Detroit’s Head Start program expand its capacity and its reach, building a citywide enrollment system.

But if Detroit’s most vulnerable families miss the message, the new money will have far less impact. The city’s experience shows that the future of early childhood education in America’s low-income communities depends heavily on whether parents have the capacity and knowledge to take advantage of their available options — and, when necessary, clamor for something better.

 

Launch pad

In a tough business, startups vie to become the Uber and Lyft of child care

PHOTO: Joe Amon/The Denver Post
Yemi Habte works with her daughters Charis Mandefro 9, and Anna Mandefro 2, as Stephanie Olson of Aurora, a MyVyllage mentor, watches during a mentoring session in Habte's home.

One summer morning, Yemi Habte sat at the kitchen table in her suburban Aurora home poring over a 10-page packet of child care forms with her mentor Steph Olson, a veteran child care provider who lives nearby.

Soon, Habte would open her own home-based child care business, Shining Little Lights, and Olson had come over to answer her questions. Habte wondered what to do if parents didn’t want to list their employers on the form? Or wanted their children to have only organic food? The pair also talked through emergency contacts, sunscreen procedures, and field trips.

The friendly kitchen table meeting, punctuated by cups of rich Ethiopian coffee and a snack of crisp roasted barley, didn’t happen by chance. It was the work of a new Colorado-based company called MyVyllage.

The idea is to make opening and running a high-quality home-based child care business easier and more lucrative. That means guiding providers like Habte through the complicated start-up process, helping them fill open spots, and simplifying back-office tasks such as billing and record-keeping.

Over the long haul, MyVyllage has ambitious plans: minting more than 100,000 new licensed home-based child care providers and a million new child care slots nationwide over the next decade. It’s a lofty goal in an industry marked by low pay, long hours, a maze of regulation, and a steady decline in the number of licensed home-based providers.

But MyVyllage isn’t alone in this enterprise. A growing cadre of for-profit and nonprofit groups — with names like WeeCare, WonderSchool, Early Learning Ventures, and Pie for Providers — are using what’s called a “shared services” approach to help new and existing child care businesses achieve efficiencies they couldn’t on their own.

Think buying supplies or insurance in bulk at a discount, streamlining the state child care subsidy process, or using a common pool of substitute teachers, mentors or coaches. While many of the groups offer similar services, some emphasize technology solutions, others focus on hands-on help, and still others offer a combination of the two.

Early childhood advocates and philanthropists are generally enthusiastic about this growing segment of the market, seeing it as an overdue innovation in a patchwork-quilt industry that lacks central infrastructure and economies of scale.

But it also raises a key question: Will tens of thousands of people accept the offer to enter and stay in a notoriously tough business?

Louise Stoney, who runs Opportunities Exchange, a national organization that promotes early childhood shared services alliances, believes it’s possible. She thinks that the approach can do for child care what companies like Uber and Lyft did for ride-sharing.

Shared services, she said, have been used for years in other sectors, but is relatively new in the early childhood world — one largely built on the failed model of small, stand-alone businesses.

“They’re tiny little businesses,” she said. “They don’t have scale. They’re not maximizing automation.”

The point of shared services, she said, is to ”really think about efficiency as a value that matters and as a way to drive more dollars into the classroom.”

Origin story

Two mothers, Erica Mackey and Elizabeth Szymanski, founded MyVyllage in 2017 after struggling to find child care themselves.

The pair met while working on business degrees at Oxford University and both have backgrounds in entrepreneurship. Mackey, who lives in Montana, co-founded a solar energy company that provides affordable electricity to households in Africa. Szymanski, who lives near Boulder, co-founded a company that allows companies to establish the value of their shares and helped build a plastics recycling company in Tanzania.

“I don’t have an early childhood background. I’m a business-builder,” Szymanski said. “But I’m a mom with two kids.”

MyVyllage’s glossy website, dotted with pictures of smiling providers and bright-eyed children, offers an appealing pitch to prospective home-based child care providers — perhaps teachers or mothers interested in staying home with their own young children.

“Make going to work the best part of your day,” it exclaims. “Focus on the children. We’ll handle the rest.”

Other up-and-coming companies in the sector make similar offers. WeeCare, a Los Angeles-based company that aims to open a million new child care homes nationwide over the next decade, tells prospective providers, “Earn up to $90,000 a year doing what you love.”

WonderSchool, with 140 child care businesses in California and New York City under its umbrella, sells its services this way: “You decide how you teach,” “Set your own schedule,” “Make more money.”

At least two dozen other groups around the country are working to support early childhood businesses with a shared services approach. Many focus on a single county or region, operate with the help of grant-funding, and don’t aspire to major expansion.

One such effort, run by a network of child centers called Early Connections, is based in Colorado Springs. The group, which has a grant from the Michigan-based W.K. Kellogg Foundation, works with 38 established home-based providers to improve quality and business practices. It’s a hands-on model, with monthly coaching sessions, regular gatherings for peer support, and an equipment lending library.

Diane Price, who heads Early Connections, doesn’t see her venture growing much bigger, but applauds the early childhood shared services movement. It’s a boon to providers, who often work in isolation, and helps gives families more child care choices, she said.

But child care trends in Colorado and nationwide suggest that companies like MyVyllage are in for a remarkably heavy lift.

Although many families prefer home-based child care, particularly for infants and toddlers, such providers are closing their doors faster than they’re opening them. From July 2015 to July 2017, the most recent numbers available, Colorado’s non-24-hour licensed home providers declined 13 percent to 2,159 homes — a loss of more than 300 homes, according to the Colorado Department of Human Services.

The on-ramp

Here’s how the MyVyllage model works: Prospective child care providers enter into a franchise agreement with the company. MyVyllage provides help with state licensing, access to back-office technology, and a choice of seven early childhood curriculums vetted by an adviser affiliated with the Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University. It also matches providers with a local mentor who will work with them for up to two years.

Currently, MyVyllage has three mentors and seven beginning providers, about half in Colorado and half in Montana.

Once new providers open their doors, they pay a fee to MyVyllage equal to 10 percent of their child care revenue. MyVyllage leaders say that providers will recoup that money and more through discounts and efficiencies facilitated by the company.

The idea, Mackey said, is to “get businesses working so they’re making more money than they would without us.”

MyVyllage also gives veteran providers a way to boost their income. To that end, mentors receive a quarterly fee from the company for assisting new providers, though company leaders declined to specify how it’s determined.

Szymanski estimated that some mentors will be able to make $20,000 annually by mentoring 10 to 12 providers a year. In practice, that would probably mean providing a few months of intense mentoring to two to three providers at a time. It’s up to mentors how many mentees to take on at once, she said.

MyVyllage leaders are still testing different ways of charging mentors for tools, discounts, and benefits available through the company’s platform.

Currently, Steph Olson and and her husband Roger Olson are MyVyllage’s only mentors in Colorado. They run a top-rated child care facility called Kids’ Castle out of their Aurora home.

The pair launched the business in 2010 after leaving jobs in corporate America.

Watching the Olsons interact with toddlers and preschoolers in the sunlit front room of their home, it’s easy to see why they would be selected as mentors. They have a warm rapport with the children, a strong grasp of child care rules, and a wealth of activities and materials to keep the kids engaged. They also have an enormous waiting list.

One July morning, Roger read a book about a monkey who likes to play drums to a gaggle of children elbow to elbow on the floor in front of him. The Olsons’ dog Sugar, who looks a bit like a stuffed animal, meandered quietly through the room. A little later, Steph took notice of a little girl who tearfully admitted that she missed her mother.

“Should we gave Anna a huggie?” Steph Olson asked the children nearby. “Anna is feeling a little sad.”

A fresh start

Steph Olson is eager to help new home-based providers like Yemi Habte, who with her husband Wondi Gebrue, is now licensed to serve up to 12 children at Shining Little LIghts.

“I love paying it forward,” said Olson.

She also appreciates the sense of community MyVyllage is building among participating providers.

As she counseled Habte recently at the kitchen table, she said, “If you’re ever in doubt, just call me or email me, I’m here for you.”

Habte and Gebrue came to the U.S. from Ethiopia last year with their four children, ages 2 to 20. They moved across the ocean to be closer to Gebrue’s family. Prior to the move, Habte had been the general manager of a school. Gebrue had been a state minister of agriculture.

Habte, who is calm and soft-spoken, discovered MyVyllage through an online ad. Before she joined, she was interviewed by MyVyllage staff and toured Kids’ Castle. Steph Olson said she knew Habte had the right temperament for the job when she paused during the tour to help a child clean up spilled paint.

“To see that, I knew she had heart,” said Olson.

All told, the Olsons have provided about 14 hours of in-person mentoring — some at Kids Castle and some at Shining Little Lights. They also exchange phone calls and texts, and sometimes meet informally over coffee.

Habte explained her desire to open her home for child care, saying, “It’s my lifetime goal to be with children.”

PHOTO: Joe Amon/The Denver Post
Yemi Habte cleans up for snack time with her daughters, Anna Mandefro 2, and Charis Mandefro, 9, during a session with Stephanie Olson, a MyVyllage mentor in her home. (Photo by Joe Amon/The Denver Post)

After she and Steph Olson finished going through forms at the kitchen table, they moved into Habte’s family room, which had been transformed into a kid-friendly haven with colorful foam matting on the floor, an appealing display of children’s books, and a row of crisp white cubbies built by Roger Olson. The pale yellow walls were decorated with flower and butterfly decals and a Disney princess clock.

With Olson looking on, Habte practiced conversational exchanges on her 2-year-old daughter Anna, who examined a collection of pine cones, river rocks, and seashells at the table.

“Label what she’s doing,” suggested Olson.

“Do you want to touch this one?” Habte asked Anna as she handed her a pine cone. “Can you touch it?”

As the little girl looked over the items, Habte picked up a green and purple plastic magnifying glass and offered it to her daughter.

Digital generation

One of the things that excites funders and observers about the new crop of companies trying to strengthen the child care industry is that many are run by young tech-savvy entrepreneurs.

Stoney, of Opportunities Exchange, said she suspects that some millennials have come to see child care as ripe for innovation as they’ve become parents themselves.

Before that, she said, “Quite frankly, they really didn’t have a reason to care about our field. … It wasn’t until they started having kids and said, ‘Wait a minute.’”

The Denver-based funder Gary Community Investments has invested in several shared services newcomers, including MyVyllage and Wonderschool. It also awarded money to WeeCare and Pie For Providers through a national early childhood competition last spring. Gary also recognized Early Connections in the contest, but the organization didn’t win prize money.

Gary is also a Chalkbeat funder through the Piton Foundation.

Steffanie Clothier, child development investment director at Gary, said she’s encouraged some of these groups have plans to launch thousands of new child care businesses.

It’s exciting these groups are thinking about scale from the beginning, she said. Given their backgrounds and talents, they are the kind of founders that can say, “What is the kind of business model that can help a lot of providers?”

Jon-Paul Bianchi, a program officer at the W.K. Kellogg Foundation, said, “I think we should have those kinds of ambitious goals … because the need is clear.”

Bianchi, who said Kellogg has funded shared services work for about seven years, said it helps build critical capacity in the child care world, including in communities that serve low-income families and children of color.

“It’s been tough to get other funders to engage in it. It’s not super sexy. It’s not super splashy … It’s real nuts and bolts stuff,” he said.

Deadlines

90 days until no paycheck: Time running out for Illinois child-care providers in subsidy program

PHOTO: Melanie Stetson Freeman/The Christian Science Monitor via Getty Images
Daycare children on a long leash and their caretakers enjoy a walk through a Chicago park

It’s hard to dispute the importance of training child-care providers on how to administer CPR or how to properly report suspected child abuse.

But Illinois officials are taking a no-holds-barred attitude toward enforcing the state’s latest round of safety training requirements, threatening to stop paying providers who don’t complete its to-do list in the next 90 days. Advocates worry that the state’s approach threatens a subsidized child-care program that serves 120,000 low-income children. The risk, they say, is further erosion of an already fragile and shrinking web of care, despite growing recognition and campaign pledges by Gov. Bruce Rauner that quality early education is crucial.

“It has been confusing — every letter they send out is confusing,” said Brenda McMillon, who runs a small, licensed center out of her Auburn-Gresham home and moonlights as a health and safety trainer for other independent providers. “I think it is great training, but I don’t like the way it was forced on people. You have to give it time to get it done and make it easy to get done.”

Three years ago, Rauner’s administration forced off tens of thousands of children from public child-care rolls when it rejiggered income eligibility criteria. The state ultimately reversed that decision, but many of those children never returned to the program.

Now Illinois could be headed toward further contracting subsidized child care if it cuts off providers who fail to comply with training rules.

The state began communicating the training protocol in January 2017. The original deadline to comply was Sept. 30.

As of July, only one-quarter of providers had completed the training, according to data provided to SEIU Healthcare, the union representing some of the providers. The state health services department, which administers the program, asked for an extension on a public records request from Chalkbeat for updated numbers and did not provide the request by deadline.

Meghan Powers, a spokesperson for that department, said her agency has sent 10 communications to providers in the last 19 months.

We have also promoted trainings on our website, social media and our child care phone line,” she said. The state also worked through a network of referral agencies to send email blasts and direct mailers.   

“Any privately funded child care center would be expected to be trained in these basic health and safety skills,” Powers said in a written response to questions, “and it’s only fair that children receiving child care through public funding receive the same level of care.”

Illinois’ last communication was dated Sept. 21. The state started verifying providers and gave them 90 extra days to submit any missing proof of training. After 90 days, the state’s letter read, “payments may be withheld.”

Brynn Seibert, the director of the child care and early learning division of SEIU Healthcare Illinois Indiana, said the letters and what have been continually moving deadlines are stirring up confusion and disruption.

“We’ve tried to engage the state about what that training looks like and how the training has been offered to providers, but what we’ve seen is that the state has moved forward without input,” said Seibert. “We’re concerned it is going to result in real chaos in the program and families and kids getting forced out.”

The state’s vast network of early childhood providers was rocked three years ago when Rauner’s administration changed income eligibility requirements for families seeking subsidized care then changed them back.

“That decision had a devastating impact on participation in the program,” said Dan Lesser, the director of Illinois policy and economic justice at the Sargent Shriver National Center on Poverty Law.

As of August, the state was serving about 122,600 children monthly, down 31 percent from 2015, when the income eligibility requirements changed.

Last year, to qualify for a state child-care subsidy, a family of five had to include a working adult and earn an annual household income of less than $51,000 or include a parent enrolled in a college or certification program.  

The number of participating providers plummeted, too. They’re down 56 percent from 2015 to 37,530 in June 2017, the latest public data available. Chalkbeat asked for an updated provider count but did not receive it by deadline.

Illinois developed its new training regimen to comply with a 2014 federal law.

But the way Illinois drafted its latest round of training requirements will harm the program, said Maria Whelan, who runs Illinois Action for Children, the state’s largest referral agency.

“This activity is going to have a dramatically compounding effect in terms of the shrinkage of this critical program,”  said Whelan, whose group administers the program in Cook County, trains providers, and helps connect families with child-care options.  

Whelan says that, beyond shifting deadlines, the reporting system is hard to navigate and requires providers to have access to a computer and internet. Many providers live in rural areas, access the Internet on their phone and only have computer access through public libraries. Or they are grandparents and not technologically savvy.

To qualify for the subsidy, providers also must undergo a home visit by a monitor. The biggest percentage of providers in Illinois’ program — 54 percent in 2017— are license-exempt family members who care for children in the child’s home and whom the state pays about $16 a day. But the state still demands they take the safety training and be visited by a monitor.

“We absolutely support improving quality in terms of care that children receive in all settings, and we have been advocating on that agenda for almost 50 years,” Whelan said. “But we think there is an element of intrusiveness in terms of sending monitors into children’s own homes.”

Her group unsuccessfully lobbied the state to exempt relatives from the requirements, which is permissible by federal guidelines.

Now Rauner is in a tough position, since he has pledged to increase the quality of programs but faces a long list of providers who haven’t met the state’s high bar.

Ireta Gasner, the vice president of policy at the national early childhood advocacy Ounce of Prevention, which is run by Diana Rauner, said other states have run into the same problems with their training requirements. Directors of established child-care centers can make a plan to arrange time out of their day to comply; but that same flexibility isn’t always conferred upon smaller, self-employed providers — particularly those who care for family members at the last minute or for children whose parents work third shift or weekends.

“As states try to formalize more of the child care roles and provide trainings and support, you tend to see some dropoff of people who don’t want to participate in the system,” Gasner said of national trends.

The risk, however, of those states casting a wide net is that advocates then lose contact with families and providers who drop out off the rolls.  

“When their providers are being paid through (the Child Care Assistance Program), we can send information to them about trainings and supports and connect them with other supports for their care,” Gasner said. “But when we don’t know where where they end up, we lose our line of sight into the services they have.”

McMillon, the trainer who runs a center out of her Auburn Gresham home, said that 13 providers signed up for her last scheduled training session, which was set for four hours on September 30. When she arrived that day, only five showed up. “One lady — she just quit,” McMillon said. “She’s a grandmother, and she told her daughter, ‘I just can’t do this.’”