Yes, I'm still working as a part-time nanny. You probably didn't know that since I haven't written about it in ages. This is mostly because it's been a lot of babies as of late and well, there isn't a ton to report. What can I say? I got drooled on. Pooped on. I can regularly smell the remaining bits of formula infused puke on my shoulder. Don't get my wrong, I love the babies but it's pretty easy to encapsulate the drama, you know?
But today, I took care of some kids that I used to sit for on a regular basis. I hadn't seen them since September so at ages two and almost five, they suddenly looked like giants to me. Aside from physical growth, the two of them have also turned into quite the comic duo. And if they don't feed off of one another, they both also have the ability to fully entertain me solo.
This afternoon, the elder child, Alex, was acting like he had springs in his soles while little Matthew napped, reminding me at the top of his lungs (as if there was any way I could forget) that TOMORROW IS VALENTINE'S DAY!! Desperate to calm him down and instill in him at this tender age that this is really nothing to get too ramped up about, I suggested making a valentine for his parents. He looked at me as if he felt sorry for my dumb ass and said, "Um, I already did that." He then suggested making a card for my cat, Baxter. (See above). He asked me to draw a small heart but when I did, he informed me that what he apparently meant was a microscopic one. (He showed me the tip of his finger to further illustrate his point). After I drew the world's tiniest heart, he colored it in with purple marker. Hence, that teeny blob. Whatever...my cat has now been given precisely two more hearts this Valentine's Day than I have received.
After valentine construction and Matthew's nap, Alex managed to find a microphone out of nowhere and announced that it was TIME FOR THE SHOW! (??) He then felt compelled to don an outfit that included a cow suit, a superhero cape, and a cowboy hat. He also evidently felt it necessary to walk around the room with a piece of racetrack in his hand while he spoke into the microphone with the other. His show was a series of "stories" of a fantastic variety. One was about nothing but a whole lot of characters, including a panda, falling into a toilet under the supervision of one Professor Poopy Pants. After several little ditties like this, he announced, "Okay, there's time for ONE MORE!"
"Woot, woot! Let's hear it!" I cheered as Matthew busied himself, pushing a Bert doll around in a mini stroller.
"Okay, this one is called...umm...The Monkey and the Puppet! One day, Ms. Twilly..."
"Ms. Twilly?" I asked. Interesting choice of name, I thought.
"Twiiiiiiiiiii-ly," he said as if he was speaking to a very cognitively delayed adult.
"Twilly," I repeated.
"Rachael, look at my mouth. Twiiiiiiiii-lyyyyyyyyyyy." I could see every single one of his teeth.
"Got it," I said, not quite knowing what I had screwed up. Anyway...
"So one day," he continued, "Ms. Twilly had a monkey on her shoulder. And a big Godzilla came by and ate it."
"Ate the monkey?!" I exclaimed. Jesus Christ!
"Yep. He ate it so I came and KICKED him apart," at which point he did this little karate/disco dance floor move, "and the monkey came out!"
Matthew suddenly looked up and said very matter-of-factly, "Wow, that's a cool story." I, on the other hand, was wondering what the hell happened to the puppet of this story.
Regardless, I instantly felt both embarrassed and ashamed by my procrastination in pitching my numerous ideas for children's books to agents and editors when four-year-olds could kick out fantastic stories about suctioning toilets and monkey eating monsters on the fly. But at least in the midst of my self-defeating thoughts, I could be entertained. And I escaped without a single bodily fluid on my being. Now, that's a good Saturday afternoon.
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