argh

As I sit here, I see the kids I watch playing. Only I don't know that you could qualify what they do as playing. They're destroying my playroom and I know it. No amount of structured time can keep my playroom safe. I don't think I have a single toy left that works to it's fullest extent, thanks to these kids. No, I don't have boys, I have two little girls that I swear come through here like a twister.

We've finished breakfast and after the disaster that was, I need to hide. Apparently, there's no way I can win here. We had oatmeal, so I tried to feed the youngest in order to keep her clothes and my dining room clean. Oh no, she wouldn't have that so she fed herself. I covered her in a bib so big it would've kept Hunter clean then I went into the kitchen to pour their drinks. Mistake number one! Never, ever turn your back on an eating toddler. No, she didn't choke but I about died when I came back into the room. Her clothes are clean, thanks to the bib, but the area around her was a disaster. What's her older sister doing? Cheering her on.

As I deposit the now screaming one year old back into the playroom I wonder what I could've been thinking by opening a daycare. On my hands and knees scooping oatmeal off the floor, I once again whisper a silent prayer of thanks that I can't have anymore kids. Lately, it seems, I'm just overwhelmed by it all. I don't know if it's the kids or me.

I love children and I've always wanted to work with them. But I come home at the end of the day so worn out by the time spent with just two little girls. I don't remember feeling this way in high school after school, work and band practice. I was up and going earlier and kept going much later. I was surrounded by many more children than this. Why is it I can't handle two little girls?

Part of that answer I know, they get away with what they want at home. I'm not bashing the woman who raises them, she's a foster mom and it takes something to raise someone else's children. Still, they think they can do as they wish and be as disrespectful as possible without any kind of consequence. So, when I have to put one in time out or get them down off a toy they shouldn't be climbing on, the breakdown is that much worse because they can do whatever at home.

My Aunt and I were talking the other night and she reminded me that my Grandmother, her mother, ran a daycare from their home. My mom's mom was also a child care provider so I guess it runs in the family. I didn't get to know my Grandmother Hargrove as alzheimers took her before I was old enough to even walk. So, I don't know how she did it. My Grandmother Summers on the other hand, we lived with her, I got to watch her with her babysitting kids as she called them.

This morning as I'm thanking God for my inability to have more kids, (I love my kids but I don't want to start over at the beginning) I'm trying to remember what my Grandmother would do. Granted, I remember her spanking us more than once and I'm pretty sure the regular babysitting kids got their fair share too, we weren't special. Still, there has to be something. Closing my eyes, I remember her ushering us into the basement to play. It seems we just had more room in that old ranch house. Maybe it's because to me that was home but, I'll figure something out. There has to be some way.