The downside of running a daycare, II.
I got my master's degree. I wanted an "analytical" job that would make me "think" and "ponder" and have grown up conversations.

Instead, I read stories on the floor, answer "why" questions, and talk about boogers and poop an awful lot. I love what I do, but I find myself mentally listing the downsides.

Before starting this, I worried that the quasi-intelligent side of my brain might die if not used. I am starting to realize this truth.

Last week I walked through the family room as hubby was watching a new show.
Oooooh. You like that show? Neat!
He shot me a look, and I realized it. I cannot escape kid teacher mode.

Then, a few nights ago, he let Charlie stay up way too late. The next day, Charlie was clinging to my leg like Saran Wrap, and constantly asking for me to hold him. He was overtired. That night, I laid into hubby. Except, instead of casually mentioning we should find and stick to a bedtime, I became that lady again.
His bedtime is 8:00. No exceptions!
I couldn't tell if he felt belittled or angry, but romantic and sexy were not either of the expressions I read.

Then, last night. I was talking to a girlfriend on the phone. She said something moderately funny, and I actually said:
Nooooo.... silly!

Before you know it, I'll be asking everyone if they went stinky before leaving the house. And then actually offering to wipe their butts. And reminding them to use soap when they wash. And putting the hand towel on the counter, within reaching distance.