Parking Lot Safety Reminders

Dear CCC families,

Every few months we like to remind our families how important safety is in our parking lot:

  • Please DRIVE SLOWLY! Children are present and are difficult to see from the driver’s perspective. There are tight corners, and blind spots that make children vulnerable. Slowing down is one of the best preventive measures.
  • Children should HOLD HANDS with an adult and AVOID RUNNING! Make sure that children are not leaving the front exit without a parent with them. Walk in designated, marked walkways or sidewalks when possible.
  • As the lot is small and does not have the capacity to accommodate all of our families, please be considerate at drop off and pick up times and limit your parking time to 15 minutes. We love that our families are connected to each other, though conversations in person and on the phone should be reserved for the yard or playdates, not the parking lot while other parents wait to park. Remember, there is parking available in the lot adjacent to ours, and in the underground structure to the west. Families visiting during the day in off hours may extend this time as needed (such as family picnics, lunches, breastfeeding, etc.).
  • Park in designated areas. Parking in fire lanes or areas that are not clearly marked for parking blocks drivers view and space for navigation.
  • Don’t block the driveway. There are other cars coming in and out of the lot for other campus purposes. Please do not block their entry to either lot or structure.

These rules are set in place to ensure the safety of all of our children. Slow down, be considerate, and stay safe!

PS. Don’t forget to lock your car!

Warmly,

The CCC Staff

The Lanyard

~ For moms, from Susan

The Lanyard – Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.