someone you love lives anywhere within a six block radius of my (current) home and were awakened at 7:45 a-freaking-m on the first day of summer, I humbly beg your forgiveness. That was me in the parking lot at 12th Street Village with the blaring car alarm and the string of expletives. Because, apparently as a cosmic rule, one’s anti-theft system, the one they haven’t learned how to deactivate, is guaranteed to go off in the early morning when one is late for a two-day babysitting gig for friends who expect to catch a crowded ferry to the nether-regions of Canada.Unable to operate the Vanbulance, I hitched a ride to the home of my friends Ryan (4) and Katie (2 ½) for a faux-parenting stint that included Sensational Toddlers, where I learned the Hello Song, the Hot Dog Song, the Good-bye Song, and that hands-on play “teaches children the delight and power of tactile engagement.” Or something like that. I went to Tube Time (permanently closed), McDonald’s (god forgive me), and the library for a new supply of books about lions and ducks.
I had just returned from this assortment of
tiny-tot activities when two things happened. First, I unbuckled Katie from her car seat and discovered that she’d made fine use of the ballpoint pen I’d neglected to confiscate, and her arms were covered elbow to wrist with black scribbles in a Jackson-Pollack-meets-Vlad-the-Mad-Tattooist kind of way. In the midst of my laughter, I got THE CALL. “Cathy? It’s Colin. Good news.”Good news, indeed. After the Vanbulance Incident, Blue House Toddler Time, PlayPlace, and the Ballpoint Pen Fiasco, I was ready for a little pick-me-up. “We have an offer on your condo,” Colin said. "It's solid." So, after not-so-quiet time, the three of us loaded into the van again (estimated loading time, including rounding up needed toys, carseat bucklage, and sippy-cup placement=16 minutes) and went to my condo to search for Form 17.
Unable to locate said document, we all loaded back up and headed to the real estate office for form-filling-out. That done, it was time again for chicken strips, assemblage of the Digeo puzzle (complete with placement of 3-D animals in appropriate spots), an episode The Wiggles (OMG), another dispute about who should get Alex-the-Cake-Topper-Lion, bathtime, bedtime, and (for Auntie Bleb) a beer.
I love(ish) children, and I am grateful for wonderful friends who have so boldly chosen to relinquish their sanity to the continuation of the human race. I am thankful they entrust their offspring to me for fun and diversion during this crazy-busy period in my home-selling, house-building life.
After 48 hours with two delightful, energetic toddlers, I take back every smug idea I’ve ever had that hmmm…well…if I were the mom, I would… There is no way I would be able to achieve what my mom-friends and dad-friends accomplish on an hourly basis. You people are courageous, dedicated, amazing, and I am so glad you are there to raise the next generation, because God knows, I will do something easier, like building a house.
