Note: In honor of Allison's birthday and in recognition that I really am a lazy person with nary a new thought in my head, today's blog is a reprint of something I wrote for the Journal-Star eleven years ago.
They really do let anyone have children. I'm living proof of that.
After all, prior to giving birth, I'd babysat exactly four times in my life. The first was for my neighbors, the Asbjornsons. They gave me a 50-cent piece to play "Mother May I" on the front porch with their son David for an hour.
I felt pretty good about that, considering I'd have done it anyway--for free. The second time I babysat was for my fourth-grade teacher Mrs. Sorensen.
Because she was one of my favorite teachers in the whole wide world, I wasn't going to let a little thing like inexperience or a lack of interest in small children get in the way of doing something for her.
Her daughter and I got through the evening OK, although I must admit (after 25 years of harboring this secret) that she wet the bed...and I did absolutely nothing about it. I'm not proud of that fact, although I am drier.
My third sitting gig had its roots in despair. My friends the Flowerdays had an appointment with their tax man and were in need of someone to watch their young twin sons.
When they phoned, they prefaced their request by telling me they'd made 112 calls before dialing my number. To make up for the Mrs. Sorensen fiasco, I agreed to babysit and decided not to charge them.
My fourth babysitting venture was arranged more out of a pity than anything else. My sister Ann decided that, since I was six months pregnant, I'd better spend a little one-on-one time with a baby.
Her young son Sam was freshly diapered when I showed up and was still dry 23 minutes later when my sister returned from her "outing." Personally, I think she was sitting in her garage reading magazines the whole time.
Three months later, I became a full-time babysitter myself. Not that all my previous experience was much help, though. It still took me four days of soaking, wet cloth diapers and dozens of loads of laundry to discover plastic pants. Things really started to improve after that, though.
And that's the way it's been for the past 7 years. I learn as I go. Fortunately, my kids Eric and Allison are patient teachers. I don't think Eric has ever complained about his breakfast, which has not wavered once in content or quality since the day I finally figured out he was ready for solids.
He only recently asked for underwear that was Barney-free and big enough for his buns. His snuggy-free happiness was immediate when I brought home a slew of solid white, size 8 Hanes. I felt very good that day about my role as a competent, responsive mother.
Allison, on the other hand, is a slightly more demanding customer. Although she's only 4, she actually had the nerve recently to ask us to start brushing her hair each morning before she leaves for preschool.
Allison also likes her clothes to match, which is why we've decided to let her dress herself. I'd like to think that my lack of maternal qualities has led my children to become independent at a very young age. The thing is, they are great people in spite of me--funny, creative, giving, sharp and fairly normal.
It's true that it wasn't until Eric was 5 that he knew what a football looked like; and Allison is more apt to sing the words of some disco song rather than a quaint lullaby as she falls asleep each night.
But they seem to get through their days with a good deal of joy and curiosity.
And isn't that the point--that little kids can play in the dirt without getting in trouble? That they can sing nonsense songs and jump off a chair for the big finish? When I think back to my babysitting misadventures, I realize that, while I may not have improved those kids' lives, I probably didn't damage anyone's life, either.
Now, as a mother, I'm even more grateful that people are resilient, patient and evolutionary in nature. It's also nice to realize that kids have an innate ability to organize and entertain themselves without us giving them a daily schedule of things to do and places to go.
Frankly, I like the idea of kids being kids. Even if that means they'll occasionally have a babysitter like me.
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