This is what happens when I drink caffeinated beverages

I pulled Grace out of daycare.  

Oh crap.

I’d better remind Tammy to pick up some Crystal Light on the way home, who knows what other trouble I’ll get myself into.

Actually, I can’t blame it all on the diet Coke I stole from Tammy’s stash.  I went in this morning and told the lady at daycare that I needed to cut Grace back to once a week.  I made that decision for a couple of reasons, one of which being that cutting that day would roughly cover the cost of Hope’s formula for one month.  Unfortunately we are already at the minimum days of attendance, she said she’d try and work things out.  I went home and then out to run some errands before Hope’s checkup (which ended up getting cancelled).  By the time I went to pick Grace up I had decided to just drop the daycare completely.

I felt really good about my decision for about 15 minutes.  Each morning that Grace has gone to school in the last month has been a struggle, she cries and says she doesn’t want to go, she wants to stay with me and B-Ho.  She’s always happy to see me when I pick her up, but she seems to have fun at school.  Today though, just to make sure that any confidence I had in my decision was crushed, she walked around the entire room hugging everyone goodbye.  Thanks, I needed that.

I figure I now have an excuse to go to Professor Toy to buy some new educational toys so I can run my own preschool/homeschool right here at home.  I love Professor Toy, it makes me very happy.  We can convert Grace’s playroom into a more functional play/learning space–as opposed to the toy pit it is currently.  Hope can sit in there in her Bumbo-sitter that she’s oh-so-close to being ready for, it will benefit her too–I can get the play tray that fits on the sitter and she can play with “tio” (aka PlayDough), learn her colors, numbers, and letters, right along with us.  I can do this…right?


I’m about 87% sure I’m going to join the Pampered Chef cult.  I was 100% sure, then I told my mother who, in turn, gave me that “you’re my daughter and I love you and I know I have to cut the umbilical and let you make your own decisions but I really think that you’re smoking crack”-look.  Now, I don’t know.  I need to get out and do something on my own though, I need to feel like I’m contributing something besides dinner a few times a week.  

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