And at least one weekend per month, she provides all-day care to several children whose parents have to report for duty at the Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama.

Jackson is also licensed to provide overnight care, which she does occasionally as needed. 

Through these unconventional arrangements, Jackson provides “nontraditional hour care,” and as her schedule suggests, it can take a lot of different forms. Nontraditional hour care is a poorly understood yet widely sought form of early care and education, generally defined as any care being provided before 7 a.m. and after 6 p.m. on weekdays, and any hours on the weekends. 

It’s estimated that about 40% of children under age 6 with working parents spend at least part of their week in childcare during nontraditional hours, according to a from the Urban Institute, a social policy research nonprofit. The report, which analyzed household survey data from the National Survey of Early Care and Education, found this type of care to be more common among children from low-income families or in single-parent or non-parent households, as well as infants and toddlers. 

Families have a diverse range of circumstances and needs when it comes to care, especially working families with young kids. Sometimes, one parent can cover while the other works, or a relative such as a grandparent can step in to help. But in other cases, families must seek more formal arrangements. That’s where providers like Jackson and Desiree Reid come in.

Reid has been a licensed home-based childcare provider in the Bronx for about a decade. Before that, though, she had a long career as a financial manager — a role that required her to work late into the night and on weekends at times. In other words, Reid needed childcare during nontraditional hours before she became a childcare provider herself. Back then, when her son was still very young, she’d scrap together help from her mother and godmother during the week, and on the weekends, she’d take him to work with her and they’d hole up in her office. 

So when Reid opened her own childcare program and realized a lot of her families were doing shift work and needed flexible hours, she found herself adjusting her schedule. 

“At first it started with maybe one parent saying, ‘Oh, Ms. Desiree, I have to work till 8:30 tonight,’” Reid recalled. “What am I gonna do? Say, ‘leave your job, come get your kid and figure it out?’ No. So I extended my hours.”

The vast majority of nontraditional hour care is provided in homes, through a mix of licensed and unlicensed caregivers. Data varies, but across multiple sources, unlicensed care — and particularly unpaid unlicensed care — is the most used nontraditional hour childcare arrangement, followed by licensed home-based care, and then licensed center-based care. Erikson Institute, a graduate school in Chicago focused on early childhood education, cites data from the 2019 NSECE survey which that about 8% of centers and 34% of listed homes provide some form of nontraditional hour care, while the rest of the care supply is found in unlisted homes, often provided by relatives, but also some nannies, neighbors, friends and babysitters. 

For licensed providers, the shift into nontraditional hour care tends to come organically, as it did for Reid. Because home-based care is typically provided in a smaller and more intimate setting, providers often develop strong personal relationships with the families they serve. So when one family has a schedule change or needs extra help, providers may be inclined to accommodate them — sometimes without any additional pay, said Juliet Bromer, research professor at Erikson and University of Delaware. 

Different types of nontraditional hour care tend to get “lumped together,” Bromer said. But that can conflate the distinct experiences of providers caring for children during early mornings, late nights, overnight and on weekends.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about nontraditional hour care as this monolithic thing, because it isn’t,” said Bromer, who has studied this domain in Illinois. 

Each type of care comes with its own sets of challenges, routines and objectives. During weekend care — the most time for children to be in nontraditional hour care, according to the Urban Institute — many providers tend to offer children more downtime than they would during traditional weekday hours, said Diane Schilder, a senior fellow at the Urban Institute who led the think tank’s research on nontraditional hour care in 2023. That reflects what parents have said they want during weekend care for their children: a greater focus on play and rest, much like they would have if their parents were able to be with them. 

That’s true for Jackson, the provider in Alabama, who said the biggest difference in how she runs her program on the weekends, compared to a weekday, is that she gives the children more time to relax. 

“The schedule has been so rigid during the week,” Jackson said. “I get it. They need the downtime. 
 They need that time to just rest.”

What that looks like in practice, she said, is extended time outdoors and more free time to do activities like puzzles and drawing. Just because their parents are at work, she said, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get to unwind like other children do during their weekends.  

In New York, Reid’s weekend care is occasional, and a bit less predictable than Jackson’s. She cares for the children of immigration lawyers, taxi drivers and nurses. Often, one parent is available on the weekend to care for their kids when the other is not. But sometimes, their schedules will overlap and they’ll ask Reid to help. 

“As long as they can give me advanced notice and I’m available, sure,” Reid said. 

“I have staff, so if I need to step back, staff can step up,” she added, noting that she has one full-time and four part-time teachers to help with 14 children. “When I didn’t have staff, that was a different story. Oh, my gosh, that was exhausting.”

Reid and Jackson, like most providers who offer care during unconventional hours, also care for children during traditional hours. Cynthia Davis, a home-based provider in Washington, D.C. who operates 23 hours a day, distinguishes between the two by calling one her “traditional shift” and the other her “twilight shift.” 

When she shifted into childcare a couple of decades ago, she decided that she would serve children from low-income families, whatever it took. 

“If I was going to have a program, I wanted to be sure I could serve all parents, regardless of what their shift was,” she said. 

With her program located near a police station, a fire station and multiple hospitals, she has served children at all hours of the day — from 1 p.m. to 10 p.m., from 3 p.m. to midnight, from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. “That’s the hours some of the parents needed,” she explained. 

It’s a lifestyle that might wear on some people, but Davis enjoys it. “I’m a night owl,” she said. “That’s why I love overnight care. I love being up at night. Everybody is quiet. Nobody is disrupting you. It’s the daytime that wears me out.”

When she cares for children overnight, her adult daughter who works at the program handles morning care so Davis can get some sleep. “It’s why you need staff,” she said. “You have to balance it out. If you don’t have balance, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

The most children Davis has cared for overnight, she said, is six. Eventually she learned that she couldn’t really care for infants overnight, since their sleep isn’t well established and they tend to wake the others. “Over time you learn how the children’s patterns are,” she said, noting that she’d strategically place an early riser farther from a child who sleeps in later. 

When children get dropped off for an overnight shift at Davis’ house, they must be bathed and ready for bed. She finds out from families what their bedtime routine looks like on a typical night — books, music, a bit of TV — “so we can mimic what you’re doing at home.” 

Most children sleep in twin-sized rollaway beds; she also has cribs, elevated cots, floor mats and air mattresses. She will put the beds out in the common area — spread throughout a spacious living room, dining room and back room — before the kids go to sleep. Then Davis posts up in her comfortable recliner chair. She has a refrigerator and table right next to the chair. She does not sleep when the babies sleep. 

In the morning, Davis helps the children brush their teeth, get dressed and eat breakfast. 

Soon, as she begins to think about winding down her working years, she plans to move away from traditional care and only offer the “twilight shift.” She’s a night owl, after all. 

Some center-based programs do offer care during nontraditional hours, but it’s uncommon and the programs that do so primarily serve a specific population, such as the children of shift workers near a large manufacturing plant or . 

“There are very, very few center-based programs that offer late night and overnight care,” said Bromer. “It’s unpredictable. No one needs overnight care every night.”

Many home-based providers will request a week’s notice or a few days’ notice for nontraditional hour care, but when families’ schedules are constantly changing, it’s not always possible. That is incompatible with the staffing setup in most centers, Bromer noted. 

Then there’s the practical reality, which is that — especially late at night, very early in the morning and overnight — want their children to be in a residential home, not a fluorescent-lit commercial building. 

Most centers don’t have space for beds, pointed out Natalie Renew, the executive director of Home Grown, a national collaborative of funders committed to improving the quality of and access to home-based childcare. What they have, instead, is thin cots. If given the option, many families would likely opt for rollaway beds like what Davis has in her home over “flimsy cots” in a center for their child’s overnight sleep. 

“In a home-based environment, children are an extension of the family, eating meals in the home, watching Jeopardy,” Renew said. “That’s a little more intuitive.”

For parents who work unconventional hours, it helps a great deal to know their child is sleeping in a bed inside someone’s home, even if it’s not their own, said Jackson. 

“It gives that parent more of a home feeling, versus in a commercial property, where it’s more of a business,” she said. “Families need us. They need the continuity of care. They need to know their babies are being treated with the utmost of respect.”

In many places, it can be hard to come by licensed providers offering care outside of standard business hours. Davis recalled a mom who would take the bus from southeast D.C. to her program in northwest D.C. to drop off her 6-month-old baby before going to her job as a security officer. She had to switch buses along the route, and when traffic was bad, it would take her two hours door to door. 

Access is one of the reasons that care from trusted family, friends and neighbors is by far the most popular option for parents who work nontraditional hours. (It is also the most care arrangement for families during traditional hours.) This could look like two neighbors who both work nonstandard hours taking turns watching each other’s kids in their homes. It could be a family friend helping out for a small fee. Often, though, it’s a grandparent or other family member.

These types of informal arrangements make up the “bulk” of nontraditional hour care, said Bromer of Erikson. Parent surveys have found that they prefer this care type for its flexibility, affordability and nurturing environment. 

“It’s not paid care,” in many cases, Bromer added, “but it is childcare.”

Tonia McMillan is an FFN provider in Southern California caring for her grandchildren during nontraditional hours. McMillan had a nearly 30-year career as a licensed home-based provider, during which time she did occasionally provide care outside of standard hours to families. She retired from that career in 2023, feeling ready to close that chapter. 

But then McMillan’s two adult sons — both single dads — had new babies on the way. At the time, she and her sons decided to “all get under the same roof” to help each other with expenses, and that included childcare. 

Today, McMillan lives in a five-bedroom house with her sons and two of her four grandchildren — now ages 9 and almost 2 — whom she regularly cares for in the evenings. During their dad’s late-night shifts with a trucking company, McMillan feeds them and puts them to bed. Some days, if he gets home especially late, she’ll also get the kids up in the morning, give them breakfast and get the older one to school. It works well, she said. 

“The only difficulty for me is my age,” said McMillan, who is 67. “Having to lift car seats in and out of cars 
 That’s part of the reason I retired. There’s such a physicality to doing childcare that people don’t realize. But here I am again.”

There are days when McMillan has to make sacrifices to be able to care for her grandchildren — she’s very social, she said — and that can be discouraging. But she loves that she is able to help and said she’ll keep doing it for as long as her son needs her. 

Still, she doesn’t view it as charity, and she doesn’t want others to see it that way either. McMillan gets about $1,200 per month in subsidy reimbursements from the state of California to take care of both children. 

“I don’t want to see this role being downplayed or portrayed as ‘you’re the grandmother, it’s your duty,’” she said. “That strips away the importance of this work — how it fills a void, how it takes care of a gap. But it also binds families and makes them stronger and able to do what needs to be done for their children, for their household. It is such an important role that serves such an important purpose.”

McMillan emphasized the importance of being able to provide childcare to her grandchildren in a space that is both theirs and hers. She can put the two children down in their own beds and then retire to her own room. 

“I can walk around in my moomoo,” she said. “I don’t have to worry about if my hair is combed.”

But the value runs deeper than that, too. 

“The comfort of being in a familiar surrounding with a familiar person who loves them unconditionally, it matters,” McMillan said. “My son doesn’t have to worry about calling or checking in, any of that. Just the trust factor alone carries so much weight. It carries so, so much weight.”

By mid-afternoon, Nabila Chehab has worked nearly a full day running one of Colorado’s universal preschool sites out of her home. She’s been awake since 5 a.m. and on her feet for hours. 

By 2 p.m., two 4-year-old girls from the preschool program remain in her care. They will be picked up in the next hour or so. Then the doorbell rings and two more girls — 5-year-old Amira and 2-year-old Nadine — burst through the front door and head straight to the back of the house, joining their peers in Chehab’s classroom. 

Chebab’s first shift of the day is almost over, but her second shift is just starting. 

Around 2:30, she prepares an afternoon snack of watermelon and Goldfish for the four girls. It is the first of several meals she will prepare for Amira and Nadine over the next seven hours while their mother works at a food and beverage stand during a concert at Red Rocks Park and Amphitheatre, about 30 miles away. (ĂÛÌÒÓ°ÊÓ is using the children’s first names only to protect their privacy as minors.)

As they munch on their snack, three more kids arrive. These are Chehab’s grandchildren — ages 6, 5 and 1 — and the older two sit around the table as she prepares fruit and crackers for them as well. 

The naturally lit, brightly colored back room is alive with the chatter and boundless energy of young children. If Chehab is losing steam, she doesn’t show it. The 61-year-old just smiles and serves. 

By day, Chehab is a licensed home-based childcare provider. Her program, which can accommodate up to six children at a time, has earned the from the state. These days, she is primarily focused on serving 4-year-olds in Colorado’s relatively new , although she enrolls younger children as well.  

Chehab is only a few years into this arrangement. Before opening her program, she cared for her grandchildren as an unlicensed . And prior to that, she worked as a teacher for 15 years and a director for five years at center-based programs, she said. 

Chehab is licensed with the state to provide care from 7 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. on Mondays through Fridays, but she continues to help families outside of regular business hours. On Saturdays, she hosts a three-hour Arabic class for young children. (Chehab moved to Colorado from Lebanon in 2009.) On Sundays, she cares for three young children while their parents work. And then, about once a week as needed, Chehab cares for Amira and Nadine in the evenings while their mom works at the concert venue. 

The kind of childcare Chehab provides on weekends and some evenings, often referred to as nontraditional hour care, is used by about under age 6 with working parents. It is most often provided in people’s homes through a mix of licensed and unlicensed care. This type of care can take place in the early mornings, late in the evenings, overnight and on weekends, based on the diverse needs of families. Often, providers like Chehab make themselves available during nonstandard hours only after a family that is already in their care has a change in plans or needs more help. 

That’s what happened with Amira and Nadine. 

Last school year, Amira was enrolled in Chehab’s universal preschool program. Nadine would occasionally join her older sister at Chehab’s house, so both girls became familiar with the provider. 

The girls’ mother, Marissa Kishell, has been working at Red Rocks since 2022, she said, taking shifts about three nights a week during peak season, which spans from spring to fall. Kishell’s mom — Amira and Nadine’s grandmother — would watch the girls at night while Kishell went to work, but when the girls’ grandmother got in a serious car accident in fall of 2025, she was unable to care for them for several months. 

Kishell enlisted Chehab’s help in the evening for the first time back in January, when she had a one-off work event, she recalled. When the Red Rocks concert season kicked off this spring, she began to turn to Chehab more often. 

“No one had ever watched them, especially at night, except for me and my mom,” Kishell said. “With everything that goes on these days, it’s hard to trust your kids with people.”

She worried, initially, about how it would go — but more so about how she would do leaving the girls than how they would do with Chehab. 

“She’s always so welcoming. Her house is cozy and clean,” Kishell said of Chehab. “I was never worried about if they would be OK.”

Now, Kishell will typically get her work schedule about a week in advance, she said. Then she’ll ask her 73-year-old mom — who watches the girls for free — which nights she can take them. Often, Kishell said, her mom will commit to all three nights but then, as the week goes on and she becomes more tired, she might ask to offload a night or two. (Her mom recovered from the car accident, Kishell said, but her energy level is not the same.) That’s when Kishell will ask Chehab, who lives about a 5-minute drive away, to take the girls for a night.

After hours of playing, the girls tell Chehab that they’re hungry. With Amira and Nadine in the kitchen alongside her, helping as much as they can, Chehab prepares a meal of lamb ribs, brown rice, Lebanese yogurt, salad, hummus and bread. The girls sit down to eat around 5:30 p.m. with Chehab, her husband Yassine Ahmed and a family friend. 

This is one of the elements of Chehab’s care that Kishell deeply appreciates. Both of her girls are “very comfortable” at Chehab’s house and “have a lot of fun there,” Kishell said, but it’s more than that.

“It’s nice for me that they get more of a home environment, and they’re having a home-cooked meal, and it’s more of a structure,” she said, “than going to a random babysitter’s house.”

That’s important to Chehab too. It’s central to her philosophy as a provider. 

“I don’t treat my families like clients,” Chehab said. “I treat them like family.”

Kishell pays about $30 per hour for Chehab to watch the girls in the evenings — $15 per hour per child — which she figures is about what she’d have to pay for the average babysitter. With Chehab’s experience and classroom materials and quality rating from the state, she feels it’s a great outcome for her and the girls. 

After dinner, Chehab helps the girls wash their hands then takes them on a walk around the neighborhood, during which they spot airplanes flying overhead. 

Back at Chehab’s house, she takes the girls into the greenhouse in her backyard, where they look for ripe vegetables to pluck and place in nets. Chehab’s garden is varied and sprawling. Inside the greenhouse, she has tomatoes and cucumbers, along with herbs such as parsley, cilantro and mint. Elsewhere in the backyard, she grows green grapes, sumac, apples, pears and peaches, although she said the fruit trees have not borne fruit during this especially hot summer. 

Both Amira and Nadine come out of the greenhouse with a few cherry tomatoes and finger-length cucumbers. 

“This one is so big!” Amira says, admiring her cucumber. “I want to take mine home.”

Chehab helps the girls wash and pack their vegetables to take home later. 

Kishell saw the vegetables from the garden when she got home that night. The girls also brought home a flower craft they’d made. These kinds of keepsakes make Kishell especially grateful. 

“I don’t think they would get quite the same experience with anybody else,” she said. 

Kishell’s appreciation is not lost on Chehab. 

“She values my work with her kids,” Chehab said of Kishell. “She sees how they improve.” 

At about 6:45 p.m., Nadine begins to rub her eyes and show signs of sleepiness — she skipped her nap today, Chehab said. “She’s ready for bed.” Instead, Chehab will try to keep them occupied until pickup, which Kishell prefers.  

Kishell’s husband, Mo Shesao, will pick up the girls at 9 p.m. Shesao has his own car shop, where he works as a mechanic. He usually stays until the work is done, Kishell said, so if someone brings their car in midday and needs it back by the next day, he’ll keep at it until he’s finished. 

Some nights, the girls stay at Chehab’s later — until 10 or 11 p.m. On those nights, Kishell will pack them a bag with toothbrushes, hairbrushes and pajamas so they can get ready for bed before they are picked up. Occasionally, Chehab said, Nadine will fall asleep at her house. Usually, though, they’ll wait until they are in the car or at home. Both children are accustomed to a 10 p.m. bedtime at home anyway, Kishell said. Since she stays home with them during the day, they have nowhere to be in the mornings and will often sleep in.

Chehab reads stories with the girls until about 7 p.m. Nadine picks out, “Big Gorilla: A Book of Opposites,” and Chehab quizzes the girls on opposites. 

“What’s the opposite of short? What’s the opposite of night? What’s the opposite of heavy?”

Next, Chehab sets up a paint station for the sisters. They don aprons and each pick out three colors and a paintbrush. As the girls get going, Chehab says to Amira, “Tell me about your picture.”

Amira has combined her three paints to create a dark blueish-brown hue, which she is trying to use to cover the entirety of her paper. 

“It’s going to be different,” Amira says, answering Chehab. She thinks about it more, then adds: “Spooky.”

As they finish up, Amira tells Chehab and her sister, “Next time, I’m going to take this to the museum 
 so they can hang it up.”

It’s August, so at 7:30 p.m., it’s still light outside. The trio heads outside to sing and dance with scarves. Chehab gives no indication that her stamina is flagging. She continues to play with and engage the girls as if the day is new. 

Around 8 p.m., the sky darkens and the girls go inside to have one final snack. They eat pretzel sticks and drinkable yogurt with straws in the basement while Chehab finds them an age-appropriate show to play on the television for 15 minutes. (She watches the clock closely to make sure they don’t get more screen time than that.) 

Once the girls are settled with their snacks and show, Chehab and her husband roll out their prayer mats and kneel to pray a few feet away. Amira can be heard slurping the last few sips of her yogurt while her caregiver quietly recites her prayers.

Around 8:30, after night has fallen and with only a half-hour left at Chehab’s, both girls become more subdued. They lay together on Chehab’s couch, still giggling and muttering, but more softly now. 

At 8:55 p.m., a car horn can be heard from the driveway. Moments later, the girls race to the front door to greet their dad. Then they give hugs and kisses to Chehab and tell her goodnight. As quickly as they’d entered the house earlier that afternoon, they now exit it, leaving a strange stillness in their wake.  

Chehab’s night is nearly over too. She will prepare her Turkish coffee for the next morning, take a shower, pray once more and then go to bed. She’ll wake up tomorrow, without an alarm, at 4:30 or 5 a.m., she said. Then she’ll head to the gym, where she swims every day, and return home, ready to greet another group of young children. 

This story was supported by New America’s Better Life Lab Childcare Reporting Grant.

At 10:30 p.m. on a Monday in the Bronx, it’s bedtime for many children. But at Juana Grisel Peña’s apartment, 2-year-old Brandon is just arriving. Peña, who goes by Grisel, greets him with a hug as he joins three other children — 7-year-old Sage and brothers Legend, 2, and Legacy, 1 — who are playing with toys in another room as they wind down for the evening. (ĂÛÌÒÓ°ÊÓ is using the children’s first names only to protect their privacy as minors.)

The four children are spending the evening at Al Despertar, a licensed, home-based childcare program Peña runs out of her apartment, which sits three blocks from Yankee stadium. Their parents are working late-night or overnight shifts: one at the MTA, another at a local grocery store, and a third at Amazon. Some of the children will stay at Al Despertar late into the night, while others will sleep over and get picked up in the morning. 

From Monday through Friday, Peña cares for up to six children in her overnight program, which runs from around 6 p.m. to 9 a.m. They arrive and leave at different times, depending on their parents’ work schedules. She has a staff of five childcare providers, three who typically work at the daytime program and two who assist her with night shifts. 

When Peña started her program about 10 years ago, it was initially only open during the day, but she quickly noticed demand among working families with jobs that stretch beyond traditional business hours so she adjusted course to meet their needs. Over the years, she has transformed nearly every corner of her home around the children she cares for. Her living room is filled with learning activities and brimming with toys; bilingual signs about handwashing and nutrition standards hang in the bathroom and kitchen; and a pile of sleeping mats are neatly stacked in a closet of the second bedroom in her apartment, ready to be set up each day for the children.

“I want the parents to go to work and be in peace,” Peña said. “I remember when I had my kids I didn’t feel that peace when they were in someone else’s care and I don’t want anyone to feel that way. I understand it’s not easy.”

Peña’s program meets a significant need for parents. Research by the estimates that 40% of young children under age 6 with working parents spend at least part of their week in childcare during nonstandard hours like early mornings, evenings or weekends. The care can be tough to find though since not all licensed childcare providers operate during those hours. “I went through a lot of trouble trying to find this place,” Sage’s dad said. “There’s not a lot of overnight daycares.”

There are countless small, yet meaningful moments that define the kind of care Peña offers — whispered bedtime stories, shared mealtimes and comforting nighttime and morning routines that help children navigate transitions.

The photographs below, taken at Peña’s apartment during one of her overnight shifts in August, offer a glimpse inside one provider’s experience operating around-the-clock care, revealing a side of childcare that’s rarely seen.

8-11 p.m.

11 p.m.- midnight

5:30-8:30 a.m.

This story was supported by New America’s Better Life Lab Childcare Reporting Grant.