Adventures in babysitting

I got a call from Sarah yesterday asking “Do you have plans for tonight?”

That’s usually followed by a request to help shepherd children around to their various schedules, often caused by her husband being out of town or extremely busy with work, or even with Sarah heading out for a dog show. Well, I had no plans, except I was going to work a few extra hours tonight to make up for the sick time earlier this week, but hey—the kids come first. And I have until April 15th to make up the time.

The conflict was T-ball and baseball. The twins had a T-ball game early, and Jake had a game that started around 7:30, which ends way too late for six-year-olds. Sarah had kept the kids up late the previous night, and figured she’d ask me to choose between staying with Jake and bringing him home, or babysitting the twins and Nate. It’s allergy season. I chose the latter.

The kids were really excited about riding in the Jeep. It was very tempting to take the windows out, what with it being in the high seventies here yesterday, but the prospect of putting them back in the following day because it’s supposed to rain made me hesitate. The onset of Green Dust Season tipped the scales. Even so, the kids were thrilled. Max told me that he never rode in my Jeep, ever. “Yes you did,” I told him. “A few times.” “Oh.” That’s one of my favorite responses from a child. They live in the present, always. The past? What’s that? It happens with my students all the time, too, and when I remind them of something that happened, oh, half an hour before, their response is always, “Oh.”

So we got the carseats and put them in the back, and I turned off the airbag in the front passenger seat so Nate could ride in it without fear of exploding balloons crushing his head. (Mind you, I didn’t explain it like that. Just turned it off. Jeeps have a key switch for that, which is great.) But he made sure I had turned it off before I started the car. I notice both he and his brother want absolute assurance that the airbag is not going to leap out of the dashboard and attack them.

We drove home with the radio playing. Nate knew the first three artists and songs. Conversation went something like this, “Do you know the Foo Fighters?” “Yes, I do.” “Do you like this song?” “Yes, I do.” “Oh, I love this song. Do you like this song?” “Yes, I do.” I tried to blast the music, but Max is a very particular young man. He has his rules and regulations, and music can only be so loud before it disturbs his world. So instead, I taught Nate how to headbang on the way home. He liked it. Did it really well, especially as his hair’s rather moptopped right now. And the final song of the day was unrecognizable to Nate. “I don’t know this one.” “Give me a minute… wait… Oh, that’s Metallica. Unforgiven.” “I like this song. Do you like it?” “Yes.” “They’re a hard rock band.” “They’re a metal band, Nate.”

(And by the way, nine-year-olds like to notice exactly how fast you are going, and tell you so. Then they like to tell you what the speed limit is. And repeat how fast you are going. I could not, of course, mutter imprecations or even assure him that 50 mph on a 45 mph road is not a big deal. I could only slow down to the stated speed limit, after which he stopped pointing out how fast I was going, until we got to the 50 mph section of the road, when I pointed out to him that I was doing the legal limit.)

Home, snack, a little TV before bedtime, then vitamins, brush teeth, get into jammies, go to bed. Not too much struggle, for a change. Except while Nate and I were doing his spelling homework, Rebecca came out of her room. “Aunt Meryl,” she said,” there’s a bug in my room.” We go and look. She points to the light on the ceiling. There is an enormous brown wasp on it. “Holy crap!” I said, “Rebecca, come out of the room.” On the phone to Sarah, ask for bug spray. None in the house. Put Rebecca in Mommy and Daddy’s bed and Sarah will take care of it when she gets home. Works for me. I am not good with flying, stinging insects. Sarah told me it was one of the wasps that don’t sting you unless you piss it off, but I was just fine waiting for her to take care of it. (She wrapped it up in a paper towel when she got home, and then released it outside. Showoff.)

I put Rebecca on the phone with Sarah, as she was just about in tears over the Horrible Bug Event. Then, I had to put Max on, because he always needs to know what’s going on. Settled them back down, finished working on Nate’s homework, and he and I spent a few minutes chatting before I sent him off to bed. They are much, much easier to watch now than the first time I sat for the kids, some years ago. I’m not exactly sure when, but I know it was post-diapers for the twins. I don’t generally babysit children in diapers. It’s a rule of mine, broken so far only for my nephew, who is now seventeen. And what a patient child he was, fifteen years ago, waiting for Aunt Meryl to figure out which part of the diaper was the front, and which was the back. I got it wrong. Had to turn it around. He was patient about that, too.

Ah, well. I had a pleasant evening. Jake stayed up talking with Sarah and me for about a half hour after they got home, and we woke Nate up laughing at the Best! Game! Ever! video over at Teeny Manolo. (It’s Improv Everywhere showing up at a Little League game and playing it up like it’s a major league broadcast, go watch and laugh.) Then it was time for Aunt Meryl to go home. Until the next request, anyway.