Before I can detail the feel of the mountains of gold coins in my water-tower-safe which I dove into, and proceeded to then back stroke though, on Monday (note: this does count as my daily exercise), I have to admit the experience did not come without its problems.
Problem 1: New York Times successfully gives me nightmares.
On Thursday I agreed to watch a one-month old baby for several hours. This is a daunting task, but I was up for the challenge.
Then Friday came and I read an article in the New York Times Magazine about shaken-baby syndrome that made me almost pee my pants.
It’s an interesting article, but its long, so here’s the gist of it: there are cases of caregivers and parents being put in prison for years because of faulty medical evidence that they shook a baby, when, in fact, the evidence might have been pointing to a previous medical condition or the abuse or accident could have taken place hours before the child showed evidence of the damage.
Oh Billy who art in
Problem 2: Some of the Children I babysat were very harsh critics of both my character and skill sets.
Scene 1: Wednesday night in Battery Park.
The characters: Me and a four year old girl.
Girl: Talia-
Me: It’s actually Tolly, sweetie
Girl: Talia, what is your job?
Me: I’m a babysitter
Girl: Hmm, you’re a pretty good babysitter, but you’re a really really REALLY great at being a monster. A scary and mean monster!
Me: Thanks.
Scene 2: Friday morning in
The characters: Me and a 22 month Italian baby.
Me: (opens door to apartment) Hello!
Baby: CIAO! (uses his whole body weight against door to slam it in my face.)
Scene 3: Friday Night in
The Chracters: Me, a 5 year old girl (sister 1) and a 7 year old girl (sister 2)
Me: (spills a few Chinese noodles on table next to sister 2’s plate while serving food. Nobody
notices. I don’t bring their attention to it.)
Sister 1: OoooOH! Sister 1, you spilled noodles!
Sister 2: That was Tolly!
Sister 1: NUH-Uh!
Sister 2: (indignantly) Just because Tolly is old does NOT mean that she’s elegant.
Oh Billy, please teach me to be more elegant in the eyes of sever year olds, less monster-ish, and use your other-worldly powers (the USPS) to bequeath onto me an Italian-to-English dictionary so that I can learn the meaning of “Ciao.”
Problem 3: Hughie may be planning to terminate my position as his long term part-time nanny faster that I was expecting.
Hughie, his friend Jesse, and I were at the Metropolitan Museum of Art looking at the marble statue of Perseus holding the head of Medusa. I told the two children the entirety of the myth. I explained how Perseus was a hero who was sent to slay the evil serpent-haired sorceress. I told the bit about how, with just a glance at the wicked witch, a person would turn to stone, and also about the mirror-shield from Athena, the invisible cap from Hades, and the badass winged sandals from Hermes. I was on a roll telling the myth and, when I led to the epic conclusion where Perseus is able to sever Medusa’s head by only seeing her through the reflection in his shield and then brings the head of Medusa triumphantly back to the gods, I looked over to Hughie and saw that he was impressed.
Hughie stared at the detached head with a calm seriousness only ever seen in humans many years older than he. He nodded slowly, staring in Medusa’s horrifying large eyes, as if he had come to some deep understanding of the beast. He didn’t stop his gaze, or his slight frown, for even a moment when he said quietly, “I’d chop off your head Tolly”
I was baffled, but before I could muster up a response or question him on his murderous intent, he lost interest in the statue, turned to Jesse and proceeded to engage his friend in a role-play where they were heroes who were going to chop off bad guy heads.
Was their weapon of choice for the decapitation a sword forged by Hermes? Nope. Lightsabers.
Oh Joel, please do not allow modern science to advance in such a way that lightsabers are real.
But, if you can make a real one, make sure I get one before Hughie.
Also, make sure it's a blue one.
Amen.
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