my bad

I keep trying to work on a post titled "A Day in the Life of Munson". It's not working out for me.
See, the thing is, I'm one of those awful working moms who leaves her children at daycare every Monday to Friday. Go ahead: say it. I've heard it all before. I choose to have children and then I pay someone else to raise them.
To a degree, yes, this is true. But in my defence, how else am I supposed to live? I need money. Then how do I make money? I work. I don't have a husband to do that for me. I don't wish to rely on Income Assistance (the fancy way of saying "welfare"). So, I'm a bad person who pays someone to watch my kids while I cart my ass to an office every day to work.
In all honesty, my kids are better off. They spend their days with a woman who has two kids, now in their 20's, who appear to have been brought up very well. She feeds them good, homemade food, which I would most likely not do as much as she does. She takes them to the park on any day that it's not raining; sometimes even when it is raining. They get exercise and fresh air pretty much every day. She does crafts with them - on a regular basis. I hate doing crafts; always did, always will. She bakes with them - I don't have the patience to do more than crack an egg, add water & oil and put it in the oven. She's makes stuff from scratch! She teaches, she helps with homework, she nurtures and loves them as if they were her own. I think they're much better off with her than they would be with me!
What's worse about all this, is my childrens' daycare is unlicensed. The shock! The horror! Yes, they go to a very qualified caregiver who doesn't want to deal with all the red-tape bullshit that comes with trying to get licensed. Because she is unlicensed, she is allowed to cuddle and hug and kiss any child that has fallen and scraped a knee or bumped his head. She's allowed to take a child's temperature and administer medication at her discretion (a little privelage I gave her after the third time she phoned me at work to ask if she's allowed to give my suffering child a couple of Tylenol). She's allowed to banish Olivia to a room for misbehaving and flick Evan in the ears for not listening. Regardless, my children love her like they would a favourite Auntie (I don't dare say grandma - she's too young and she'd probably cuff me up the side of the head for that). And we feel very lucky to have such a wonderful person in our lives.
So the whole point of this post was to explain my struggles with the post I am attempting to compose and that I've now decided to recruit my daughter's caregiver to make notes for me so I can complete it.
I know a lot of readers are running out of patience (sorry Julie!) but please bear with me. I had a rough week. Actually, month.