Adventures in Babysitting

I took a 7-year old girl and her 4-year old brother out to dinner. By myself.

There was some initial drama. The 4-year old, freshly awake from a nap, expressed no desire to go to dinner. My attempts at coaxing him to get ready drained my patience. This led to a demand, the inevitable refusal, and a time out.

He brightened up in the car, pretending to throw up on everything in sight.

I had chosen a kid friendly restaurant. Still, I was so frazzled by getting seated, opening crayon packets, and quickly determining what the kids wanted to eat, I didn't give the waitress time to say her name.

My next challenge was to allow an appropriately non-rambunctious level play until food arrived. One rule was to not play on the back of banquette unless the seats on the other side were empty. Still, playing with the 7-year old's sweat shirt turned a little more rambunctious than I liked, leading to tears and comforting hugs. This was followed by kisses (they do love each other, these siblings), which turned into licks, and another activity kiboshed.

Thank goodness for the pre-dinner bread.

Dinner itself was relatively quiet. The rule here was that one could not play while eating, the 10 seconds it took to finish dessert being the only exception. I was actually able to almost savor my apple crumble.

More simulated vomiting on the ride home. Then DVDs, a change into PJs, NickJr, and Sprout until Mom & Dad arrived.

***
I agreed to babysit a 7-year old boy and his 23-month old brother. I couldn't let them sit in the house all day and watch TV, so I decided (with parental permission) to take them to the fair. By myself.

I had Dad show me how to unfold and fold the stroller. Unfortunately, he forgot to mention the lock on the front wheel (it's a 3-wheeled contraption with dirt bike tires), and I spent the first 5 minutes unable to turn the thing properly.

We spent most of the time in the kids' area. I bought a wristband for the 7-year old, so he could ride anything as many times as he wanted.

Twice, I actually pushed the stroller with the little one on my hip. 'What am I thinking?' I said to myself audibly. 'That's what the stroller is for!' My arm thanked me for the extra time it took to strap him in when it was time to move.

We had shaved ice. The little one could barely use the spoon at the end of the straw. Chunks of syrup-soaked ice fell onto his shirt, into his lap, stained the stroller. Undeterred, he did double duty, eating his brother's shaved ice as well as the one we shared.


I didn't bother to change his shirt. I wanted funnel cake before we left.

"I never had that before" said the 7-year old, when faced with the powered-sugared deep fried goodness. "It's better than candy," I told him. "Nothing's better than candy," he assured me. I broke off a piece for him to taste. "You're right. It is better than candy."

If I've accomplished nothing else in this life, I've at least introduced a child to the joy of funnel cake.