All about the kids bowling green ohio: All About The Kids Learning Center | Preschool

All About The Kids Learning Center in Bowling Green, Ohio

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Pre K Description

The Center’s MISSION is to provide a caring nurturing and energetic environment for your child to grow. Children are encouraged to learn through guidance modeling and self-direction. With their educational experience and devotion to teaching young children our staff will assist your child in reaching his/hers highest potential of learning. Our educational curriculum is designed to encourage children to enjoy learning acquire appropriate social skills and develop independence.

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No

Inspection URL

http://www.odjfs.state.oh.us/cdc/Results3.asp?provider_number=CDCSFJRJPMNNNININI

Special Needs

n/a

Operating hours

n/a

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Check Availability and RatesGet Info PacketContact

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All About The Kids Learning Center

(419) 353-3898

437 South Main Street, Bowling Green, OH 43402

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Worth reading:
The Rising Cost of Day Care in Austin
Potty Training – Free potty training chart download!
Child Care Customer Acquisition Cost
Child Care Assistance in Maine
Interesting Preschools in Minneapolis
More Articles on Mom Trusted

ALL ABOUT THE KIDS LEARNING CENTER, LLC, Licensed Child Care Center

ALL ABOUT THE KIDS LEARNING CENTER, LLC

Program Type:

Licensed Child Care Center

Capacity:

0

General Information

ALL ABOUT THE KIDS LEARNING CENTER, LLC is a licensed child care center in Bowling Green, Wood County, Ohio that welcomes your child and family. Sensitive, loving interactions with teachers are the active ingredients of high quality early care and learning programs. Children benefit socially, intellectually and physically from participation in quality group care experiences, with proven results that last into their school years. Quality child care/day care programs also involve parents—regularly telling you about your child’s daily activities, and sharing information about child development topics and activity ideas to enjoy at home.

Accreditations

No records

Educational Programs

No records

Hours of Operations

Monday

12AM – 12AM

Tuesday

12AM – 12AM

Wednesday

12AM – 12AM

Thursday

12AM – 12AM

Friday

12AM – 12AM

Saturday

12AM – 12AM

Sunday

12AM – 12AM

License Information

License number: 000000504192

Expiration date: Unknown

Staff Roster

No results

Schools in the area

DUNN’S KIDDIE KARE, LLC

215 Gorrell Ave, Bowling Green, OH 43402

(419) 353-1737

View Details

RAINBOW COOPERATIVE NURSERY, INC.

541 1/2 W Wooster St, Bowling Green, OH 43402

(419) 352-5437

View Details

RAINBOW COOPERATIVE NURSERY CORP.

541 1/2 W Wooster St, Bowling Green, OH 43402

(419) 352-5437

View Details

(419) 353-3898

• To enhance this description, add pictures, see the programs’ dashboard, or claim this program, click below.

STAR LANES POLARIS – bowling alley in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio (USA)

20-lane mixed bowling alley in suburban Columbus, Ohio (USA)

Star Lanes is a thriving bowling alley in a vibrant suburb near Columbus, Ohio. The comfort of visitors to the center on 20 SPL Select lanes is provided by the most advanced solutions in the industry from QubicaAMF: reliable and durable Xli EDGE pinspotters, the innovative BES X player entertainment system, which has no analogues in the industry, and Super Touch player terminals. Star Lanes is also equipped with a VIP area, a games room and a bar. Thanks to first-class visual effects, the center has become a favorite place for leisure activities for both locals and visitors to the city.

Project website: http://www.starlanespolaris.com/

Address

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Everything I didn’t say online Celeste Ing

Celeste Ing

Everything I didn’t say

To my family

One

Lydia is dead. But they don’t know yet. 3 May 1977 years old, half past seven in the morning, no one knows anything except for the most harmless fact: Lydia is late for breakfast. By her bowl of cereal, Lydia’s mother, as always, put a sharpened pencil and physics homework – six problems are marked with checkmarks. Lydia’s father is in the car on the way to work, turning the knob on the radio, fumbling for WXKP (Northwest Ohio’s top news provider) and getting angry at the wheezing of static. Lydia’s brother yawns on the stairs, still wrapped in the tail of a night dream. And on a chair in the corner of the kitchen sits Lydia’s sister, goggling, hunching over, sucking cereal one at a time, waiting for Lydia. Sister something in the end and says:

– Lydia is taking a long time today.

Upstairs, Marilyn opens the door to her daughter’s bedroom and sees that no one has gone to bed: the corners of the sheets are in neat hospital folds, the pillow is fluffy and swollen. Everything seems to be in place. Lumped on the floor were mustard corduroy pants, a striped rainbow sock. On the wall in a row – award ribbons from school science exhibitions, a postcard with Einstein. There was a bag in the closet. The green school backpack slumped against the desk. On the chest of drawers is a bottle of Baby Soft perfume – the dusty sweetness of a beloved child is still in the air. But Lydia is gone.

Marilyn closes her eyes. Maybe when she opens it, Lydia will be in the bedroom – as usual, buried with her head, strands sticking out. A grouchy lump under the covers – maybe Marilyn overlooked it. I was in the bathroom, mom. Went downstairs for a drink. Yes, I’m lying here, what are you doing? Marilyn looks on and, of course, nothing has changed. The drawn curtains glow like a blank TV screen.

Marilyn stops at the kitchen door, rests her hands on the door frame. Her silence is eloquent.

“I’ll look outside,” she says after a pause. – Maybe for some reason …

As she walks to the front door, she looks down at the floor, as if Lydia has stamped footprints into the hallway.

Nat says to Hannah:

– I was at my place in the evening. I heard the radio. Half past eleven. – And he stops, remembering that he did not wish good night.

— Can they kidnap you if you are sixteen? Hannah asks.

Nat pokes at the cereal with a spoon. They wither and drown in the milk turbidity.

Mother returns, and Nat breathes a blissful sigh: here is Lydia, safe and sound. Not for the first time: she and her mother are so alike, you see one out of the corner of your eye and mistake it for another – the same elven chin, and high cheekbones, and the dimple on the left cheek, the same narrow shoulders. Only her hair is different: Lydia’s is inky black, her mother’s is honey-blonde. Nat and Hannah took after their father. Some woman once asked at the grocery store: “Chinese?” – and when they said “yes”, deciding not to go into details – completely, half, – she nodded thoughtfully: “I knew it. You can see it in the eyes.” And she pulled the corners of her eyes with her fingers. However, genetics is not a decree for Lydia – she inherited her mother’s blue eyes, and Nat and Hannah know that this is why Lydia is her mother’s favorite. And papa. And not only for this reason.

Lydia puts her hand to her forehead and turns back to her mother.

“The car is here,” says the mother, but Nat had no doubts. Lydia can’t drive, she doesn’t even have a student’s license. That week, she surprised everyone by failing the exam, and without a license, her father would not even let her sit behind the wheel. Nat stirs the sludge of the soaked flakes in the bottom of the bowl. The clock in the hallway is ticking, striking half past seven. Nobody raises an eyebrow.

— Do we still have to go to school? Hannah asks.

Marilyn hesitates. He takes the bag, rummages through it with feigned efficiency, fishes out the keys.

Both of you missed the bus. Nat, take my car, give Hanna a lift. And then: Don’t worry. We’ll find out. She doesn’t look at children. The children don’t look at her.

As they leave, Marilyn, holding back her trembling hands, takes a mug from the cupboard. Long ago, when Lydia was a baby, Marilyn once left her in the living room on a blanket and went into the kitchen for tea. Lydia was barely eleven months old. Marilyn removed the kettle from the stove, turned around and saw Lydia standing in the doorway. Marilyn put her hand on the hot burner in surprise. A burn blossomed in a red spiral on the palm of her hand, and Marilyn, looking at her daughter through tears, pressed it to her lips. And the daughter stood and looked wary, looked around, as if she had seen this kitchen for the first time. Marilyn then did not even think that she had missed her daughter’s first steps, that her daughter had grown so much. Not “How did I overlook everything?” But “What else are you hiding?” Flashed through my brain. Nath struggled and staggered and fell and hobbled in front of his mother, but she didn’t remember Lydia ever trying to get up. And yet, it seemed, she stood firmly with her bare feet, her fingers barely peeking out of her frilled sleeve. Marilyn often turned away – opened the refrigerator, fiddled with the laundry. Maybe while Marilyn was looking into the pots, Lydia had been walking for more than a week.

Marilyn picked up her daughter in her arms, smoothed her hair, said how smart Lidia is, when dad comes back – he will be so proud. And all the same – as if she had found a locked door in a familiar room: it turns out that Lydia, who can still be cradled in her arms, has secrets. Marilyn feeds her, bathes her, packs her in pajama pants, but Lydia’s life is already kind of curtained. Marilyn kissed her daughter on the cheek, pressed her to her, tried to warm herself with her little body.

And now he drinks tea and remembers his astonishment.

On the corkboard by the refrigerator is the school secretary’s phone number; Marilyn unhooks the card, dials a number, and wraps the wire around her finger, listening to the beeps.

“Middlewood High School,” the secretary says after the fourth ring. — Dotty at the machine.

Marilyn remembers this Dottie: cushion-shaped, her fading red hair still tucked into a puffy bun.

“Good morning,” Marilyn says, stammering. Is my daughter at school today?

Frustrated, Dotty cackles politely:

— Who am I talking to, please?

Marilyn does not immediately remember her name.

– Marilyn. Marilyn Lee. My daughter is Lydia Lee. Tenth grade.

– One minute, I’ll check the schedule. First lesson… – Pause. — Physics, eleventh grade?

— Yes, absolutely right. Mr Kelly’s.

– I’ll send someone to check.

A knock is heard as the secretary puts down the phone on the table.

Marilyn looks at the mug, the puddle of the mug on the countertop. A few years ago, a girl crawled into a barn and suffocated. The police sent out a leaflet to homes: “If your child is lost, start searching immediately. Check washing machines and dryers, car trunks, sheds, any spaces that a child might have climbed into. If the child is not found, immediately call the police.

– Mrs. Li? the secretary says. Your daughter didn’t come to the first lesson. Did you want to ask her?

Marilyn hangs up without answering. He pins a card on the board, and under wet fingers the ink is blurred, the numbers are smeared, as if in a hurricane wind or under water.

Marilyn walks around all the rooms, opens all the closets. He looks into the empty garage – there is only an oil stain on the concrete and a strong smell of gasoline. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for. Significant footprints? A trail of bread crumbs? When she was twelve, an older girl disappeared from her school – then a corpse was found. Ginny Barron. She wore two-tone leather shoes that Marilyn would have sold her immortal soul for. Ginny went to the store to buy cigarettes for her father, and two days later she was found by the roadside halfway to Charlottesville, naked and strangled.

The brain boils. Son of Sam’s summer is just beginning—although the papers have been calling him that only recently—and even in Ohio, the headlines are screaming about the latest murder. In a few months, the police will catch David Berkowitz [David Berkowitz, aka Son of Sam (Richard David Falco, b. 1953)] is an American serial killer. Between the summer of 1976 and July 1977, he killed 6 and wounded 7 women with a .44 revolver; preferred women with dark, long and wavy hair. Was arrested on August 1977, currently serving 6 life sentences in prison. – Note here and below. transl.] and the country will find something to distract: the death of Elvis, the new Atari [“King of rock and roll” Elvis Presley (1935-1977) died on August 16 Sales of the Atari 2600 game console began on September 1. ], Fonzi jumps over a shark [Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli – the character of the American sitcom Happy Days» (Happy Days, 1974-1984), played by Henry Winkler; he jumps over a shark on a jet ski in the Season 5 episode “Hollywood (Part 3)” aired September 20, 1977. The scene became a household name as an example of an illogical and absurd plot twist, invented by screenwriters solely for the sake of television ratings.]. But now dark-haired New Yorkers are buying up blonde wigs, and the world is scary and unpredictable. We don’t have that here, Marilyn reminds herself. It can’t be like this in Middlewood, which is supposed to be a city, but in fact a college town, three thousand inhabitants. In an hour by car you can only get to Toledo; all Saturday entertainment – rollerdrome, bowling and drive-in cinema; even Middlewood Lake in the center is an overdressed pond, nothing more. (Here Marilyn is wrong: the lake is a thousand feet from shore to shore and deep.) And yet his lower back tingles like bugs marching along the ridge.

Grinding rings on the bar, Marilyn pulls back the shower curtain and looks at the white curve of the tub. Searches kitchen cabinets. He looks into the pantry, into the dressing room, into the oven. Opens the refrigerator. Olives. Milk. A chicken in pink styrofoam, a head of cabbage, a bunch of jade-colored grapes. Marilyn touches the cool glass of the peanut butter jar and closes the refrigerator, shaking her head. What did you think – Lydia is inside?

The morning sun, juicy as a lemon biscuit, fills the house — it floods the insides of cupboards and empty closets, clean bare floorboards. Marilyn examines her hands – they are also empty, almost glowing in the sun. Marilyn picks up the phone and calls her husband.

It’s still an ordinary Tuesday in James’s office; James clicks his fountain pen against his teeth. Slightly uphill creeps dirty typescript: “Serbia was one of the most powerful Baltic powers.” He crosses out “Baltic”, corrects for “Balkan”, turns the page.