Daycare

I just keep watching that movie (from prior post) because my legs look so dang good!

Well, this morning we went with my girlfriend and her kids (plus a few extra) to the beach. Let's add this up:

my kids = 5
+ hers = 5
+ extra = 2
+ adults = 2
_____________
total = 14

Now let's look at some photos. Look with me from an outsiders perspective, okay? I mean, let's pretend that we don't know that Miss Brasil (my girlfriends new alias) and I adopted, nor do we know that we brought along our friends' kids...

And, taking a look from someone else's point of view I can see that we do look like a daycare. Holy smokes! All those beautiful colors and ages and nationalities represented... Why else would we have all these kids with us!?!


*note to self. Stop getting angry every time that someone asks if you run a daycare, have foster kids, or are babysitting someone else's kids. While you're at it, don't get mad when people are shocked that you can do the twins' hair. Also, don't get frustrated when they tell you, "What a great thing it is that you're doing for those kids", like my Liberian babies asked me for a favor. Or how about not getting irked when they ask "Which ONES are adopted." (I mean, how should someone answer that? My usual response is, 'the obvious ones'.) Take a deep breath and remember this moment and how you appear from the outside. YOU LOOK LIKE A DAYCARE!


Earlier this summer on a Saturday morning, there was a knock on the door. Husband and I were soundly sleeping as it was about 7:30am. Miss Z answered the door (bad girl). Husband and I decided that we ought to get outta bed and, while making coffee, asked Miss Z who was at the door. The conversation went something like this:
"Who was at the door?" asked Hunsband
"A kid." responded Miss Z
"What kid?" silence "Were they okay?"
"Ummm... I don't know what kid they are. A boy with an orange t-shirt."
"Do you know where he lives?" panic begins to grow in Husbands voice
"No. But he's about 10ish; maybe."
"Well, honey, what did he want?"
"He said he needed help because there was someone at his house and they aren't supposed to be there. He asked if my daycare person was here."
"Let's go and find him." Husband said as he led Miss Z to put on some shoes.

So they went on a walk to find the orange t-shirt boy and to help them rid of the unwanted people at their house (I love that Husband is 6'5 and strong). It turns out that it was a boy who lives a couple of houses down and that he and his mom were trying to set up a garage sale but a pitbull wouldn't let them. This boy is the house-translator (we live within a largely latino neighborhood) and so he came for his mom because Dad wasn't home to shoo the bad dog away.
Point of the story?

We've lived two houses down from this family for over two years and they think that I run a daycare. I really must get out and introduce myself to some of our neighbors!