Originally published December 1, 2011

Mothers of boys, unite! There is a curse upon us, ladies. And that curse is that they are boys. They are rambunctious, insane, out-of-control, Tasmanian devil-cyclones of endless energy. Oh, we love them for it. It makes them fun, spontaneous, creative, and hilarious. However, it also makes them the biggest klutzes in the history of EVER.

Any mother who has more than one boy – particularly if they are close in age – should plan on at least 4 ER trips a year. Minimum. Between the random sicknesses that all kids get and the inherent damned accident-prone nature of boys, you practically need a punch card for the place.

Funnily enough, I mentioned that to the receptionist last night, and she wasn’t amused. Of course, every time I go in there I’m pretty sure they think I beat my kids.

Ouch, kiddo.

The other OUTSTANDING part of this curse is that the next ER trip will ALWAYS happen right after you pay off the previous one. We literally just sent in the last check to cover Logan’s last epic fail with gravity, and then this happens:

Poor, sad-faced Ethan. 😦
Not a lot of detail in this pic, but you could actually see the yellow fatty layer under the skin…it was pretty deep. You’re welcome.
Cue steri-strips and dermabond.
At least we didn’t need stitches. That would not have gone over well with sad-faced Ethan.
Good news: Fixed. Bad news: Half his face is now covered with a layer of (rock) glue.

Needless to say, yesterday ended well.

And I’m pretty sure I need to find a permanent solution to this day care thing. One that doesn’t involve taking my kids outside of my home. Not because of the ER trip. I understand, shit happens, and my kids can’t walk straight without falling down. No, there just comes a point when you realize that there are very few people out there who will take care of your kids the way they need to be taken care of AND have a rate you can afford. You get one or the other. Unfortunately, we  have the latter. When you pick up your 2 1/2 year old and he’s pooped in his pull up, it’s understandable the first time. Then it happens again. And again. And again. 1.) It’s kind of your job to make sure they are READY to go home. 2.)  I know this didn’t JUST happen. 3.) Remember how he’s potty trained? Maybe we could focus on making sure he gets to the potty…?

Then there’s other things…like the fact that I know she smokes. Not in the playroom, not while the kids are there, but she does smoke. And that smell is EVERYWHERE. And honestly, I can’t tell her not to smoke in her own house…but at the same time…I mean you do run a day care…you know that, right?

So, even though I know it’s going to take some doing, I’m going to have to find a legitimate way to work from home. I can’t keep doing this. Hutchinson sucks for day care. So…wish me luck. I’m hoping I might be able to snag a freelance writing gig or something, so I have some freedom with my work time. We’ll see.

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