Not like the Oscar favorite, Ernest Goes to Camp...and, well, not really like camp at all either, really. Wow, I bet you feel deceived.
Ethan started his part time, in-home day care this week. See? The truth isn't nearly as catchy.
As satisfied as we are with this arrangement, I chuckle at a recent memory about day care. From my visits to the estrogen ocean (aka iVillage), I learned that there is an armed militia of mom's that would sooner poke a sharp stick in their eye (or in my eye, as the case may be) before ever allowing their little Gidget to be in the arms of another during the day. Somehow that distaste for other people holding their own baby extends to criticizing complete strangers for any difference of opinion too. What-ever.
Ethan's new part time hang out is groovy. It smells good (except an hour after lunch she says), is tidy and the kids are all relaxed and happy. The head duck is a mature woman from New Yaawk and has been changing other people's kid's diapers for over 20 years. That is quite a pedigree.
Only a handful of other kids are there too and except for one other bambino, they are all barely knee high to a grasshopper. Whenever we walk in the munchkins all exclaim "baby! baby! baby!" with the same unbridled enthusiasm as Steve Martin had in "The Jerk" when the new phone book arrived.
And come on now, wouldn't you scream with delight too if this little guy came into your house? :)