How California’s universal TK hurt private child care

“Transferred the $$ to cover tomorrow’s paychecks?”

“Yup — but only had enough for net pays.”

“NP, we’ll deal with the taxes next pay period.”

“FYI, can’t pay for water polo reg because the acct is drained.”

“Kk. I’ll tell coach. We ok to pay the mortgage this month?”

[Silence.]

This was my twice-monthly text exchange with my husband over the last year.

Two foreclosure scares and multiple family-and-friend loans later, with savings and college funds drained, we threw in the towel and shuttered our private child care business, Panache Enfants. 

Our business had already begun eroding in a post-pandemic economy. Then came universal TK, signed into policy in 2021. The state funding added half day of classes for 4-year-olds in public schools — and inadvertently intensified the existing pressures on private child care businesses.

In 2013, as an ambitious young couple, we had dreams of transforming the child care space. We wanted to deliver an exceptional program while keeping it simple and focusing on people.

And we did.

The state funding added half day of classes for 4-year-olds in public schools — and inadvertently intensified the existing pressures on private child care businesses. Getty Images

Along with being an educator, I became a local small business owner, primarily employing young women. Two years in, we were graduating 24 children to kindergarten, and our inbox filled with notes of gratitude. We, and our community, were thriving.

And then COVID hit. We never closed. We were supported by PPP loans and operational waivers that allowed us to navigate changing public health guidelines. 

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In 2021, still running Panache, I began my journey as a public school teacher. I heard the initial discussions of universal TK, and watched the rollout in real time.

As an educator who deeply believes in doing what is best for kids and families, I saw this as a step toward an improved public education system. 

But what about Panache? TK was part-day, and families still needed placements for younger children and infants.

We believed we could adapt. The state was promising us a seat at the table, and that felt like positive movement.

We were wrong.

The house of cards began toppling in 2022. PPP loans ran out. Waivers lifted. Our veteran staff gradually left early childhood education for jobs that didn’t weigh so heavily — corporate work, public education, private nannying.

The monumental responsibility of keeping people healthy and safe through the pandemic, while still doing what was best for kids, had finally become too much.

Suddenly, inflation doubled expenses, compounding operational pressure. Feeding my Panachers healthy meals with fresh, hormone-free ingredients became burdensome. But our ethos drove us to continue offering employees our then-optional 401(k) plans, paid time off, and health care.

We continued investing in our values of care, limiting tuition increases, and providing increased work-life balance through schedule flexibility. Cost-cutting without compromising on ethics would carry us through.

However, creative, out-of-the-box cutbacks go from being fun challenges to onerous quite quickly. As our family’s needs grew, state-funded TK kept expanding, and our business shrank, taking our own stamina, health and optimism with it.

We told ourselves focus and grit would steady the numbers. But teachers kept coming and going, and we couldn’t keep up.

I remember being stunned by the wage and part-time schedule requested by a non-qualified interviewee. Later, while driving past a McDonald’s and seeing a “Now Hiring” sign in the window, I understood immediately why recruiting qualified educators had become nearly impossible. McDonald’s could up the cost of a meal from $10 to $18, but I could not increase tuition from $2,000 to $3,600.

The optimism that private providers would have a meaningful seat at the universal TK table also petered out. Why?

The workforce already existed. The facilities already existed. The licensing infrastructure already existed.

But we built parallel capacity instead of forging an accessible conversion pathway for private providers like Panache.

Proposition 98 funding supported new credentials, facility modifications, lower public ratios and expanded learning opportunities (ELOPs). The rollout created approximately 130,000 public TK slots.

Simultaneously, California’s official data show that 1,460 preschool licensees closed between 2022 and 2024. Panache alone was licensed for 72 students.

I cannot help but wonder whether those state investments in universal TK could have instead strengthened an existing framework through intentional integration of operating private providers.

My gripe is not with universal child care. Universal TK did what it aimed to do, and many families gained access they could not otherwise afford. But private child care ended up paying that price. I’m saddened by the waste of talent and expertise that was already in the house.

I will always be an advocate for children. But I want to be part of that solution, not a casualty of it.

Universal access and sustainable delivery wouldn’t be opposing goals if we simply listened to the people who have been holding the system together all along.

Shilpa Panech is a public school teacher and former early childhood center owner who believes universal child care must be both accessible and sustainable.