I am not a drug dealer.

How child care and drug dealing is similar. 

Beware this post is in fun- I do not mean to arise suspicion that I may actually deal drugs. This is just meant to poke fun at the fact that it may appear that I am dealing drugs out of my home rather than providing child care. So below is a light hearted comparison.   If you may become offended please stop now. 

  1. I have odd clientele coming and going all hours of day and night. I once took a class on how recognize drug usage (as part of my continuing ed classes for childcare) and the main thing to watch for to identify if someone is dealing drugs from their home is odd “clients” coming all hours of day and night. Well, dear neighbors of mine, although it may look like it I am NOT dealing drugs. I totally have some odd characters coming and going. ALL THE TIME. But I am not dealing drugs. I promise. 

2     2.    I carry a prepaid phone. A criminal may carry a prepaid phone because it makes their calls more difficult to trace (or so CSI tells me) But I am not worried about someone tracing my calls. Heck, you could strap a gps on me and tracking me would be BORING. Because I spend 89% of my time in one room and the other 11% of time in a one mile radius of that room. Any moms out their want to guess what room I live in? Nope dad’s, I do not live in the living room- that’s just an indoor jungle gym for kids complete with trampoline- I mean couch. That’s right mom’s I LIVE in the kitchen. I mean what is with people needing fed every single day! And multiple times a day. What a time drain. No. Tracking me is not my fear. Nope. I have a prepaid phone because I am poor. Really poor. 

      3. I am poor. Did I mention that I am poor? I watched a documentary about drug dealers a few years ago and the average drug dealer makes about as much in a year as if they worked full time at McDonalds. I’m a little jealous. I once broke down how much I make hourly. Then I crawled into a fetal position and cried and refused to come out for a week. OK I fib. I came out after an hour but I wanted to rock and cry for weeks. Fun Fact: I would make more hourly if I was a crummy waitress and never got tips. $4 per hr is looking pretty sweet over here. And that is before you figure in the cost of watching kids like food, supplies, increased utilities bills, ridiculous home “repairs” required by licensing, continuing education and 12000 cartridges of ink and reams upon reams of paper to do the “paperless” billing. Another Fun Fact: my business shows at a complete and utter loss on my taxes. Every. Single. Year.  The only redeeming thing about my income is that I work A LOT. Like 24-7. Which means that if you figure all that in I might be close to a burger flipper’s income (or a drug dealers income). Maybe. Probably not. 

  
       4.. I have a grave yard in my back yard. Only, unlike some stereotypical criminals mine doesn’t have any corpses. It’s just there to make my neighbors uncomfortable. OK the kids built it. I’m not the criminal. I’m just raising them.

        5.    I live in a frat house. OK so this may not apply to a crack house as the closest I have ever been is watching absolutely false TV crime shows. But it may apply. I have darts in my kitchen. When I walk into the bath room and find someone standing on the sink in a, ahem, compromising position I just close the door and find an unoccupied bathroom.  I added this because sometimes it seems that I am the only one in the house with full mental sobriety.  Darn that Oreo high. We need a 12 step program for kids and sugar. Oh yeah. That’s called parenting. Darn.

     6     People call me “tweaking” and begging for a “fix” all the time. OK I am a parent and I have totally done the weird call to a babysitter before sounding like a desperate addict on withdrawal. Please please please please let me get out tonight. I need a fix. NOW.

So just in case you were wondering: I am not a drug dealer. I am the little old lady in the shoe.