It Takes a Village

Given my recent mood, the following complaints should not be unexpected.

I went to one of those governmental classes designed to improve the level of childcare in these great United States. It was a long and tedious class, attended by numerous detailed forms (in triplicate). This class was also attended by a shocking array of the lesser-educated strata of society. Myself included. My, but we are a motley group.
These are the day care providers for America's Youth.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.

If you have a spouse who provides enough income that you are able to be home with your children, go kiss that person immediately. If you have a spouse who is staying home to parent your children, you need to be buying them expensive gifts. And also, go kiss them.
Day care is a bad place for children. I say this with all my heart.

This is a large part of the reason that I watch other people's children. It allows me to keep my children from the dangers of institutionalization (which I spelled correctly without spellcheck!) It also allows me to save a few other children from that monster. It's like Kelly's List. The ones plucked from the flames.

I never wanted to be a day care person, when I grew up. I wanted to be a Broadway actress, an antiquities professor, or a Japanese Cheerleader for Stanford.....but never a babysitter.
Except, I love kids. Especially my own.
At this class, they were talking about incentives for continuing education in early childhood development. It's possible that I would weep if forced to sit through those classes. Kids in theory are boring. Kids in real life are fantastic.

I sat there, eyes glazed over, at a crossroads of my adult life. I'm pushing 40, PMSing, and I have become a page from Hillary Clinton's parenting manual.
Which got me to giggling.... once I got over the utter despondency.
So, giggling was an improvement, even if it was wry, and dripping with sarcasm.