6/25/2007
Adventures In Babysitting, Part 1: Space-Time Continuum
My wife and I do not have kids yet. We love kids, and we’re very good with kids. Almost without exception, every single one of our friends have kids, and we’ve been teaching Sunday School for about 5 years to kids ranging from 18 months to 6 years old. We love watching Supernanny, and not just because it involves an attractive, long-haired British disciplinarian who wears smart-looking suits but you just know that underneath her buttoned-down, prim and proper English exterior lies someone who needs to let said hair down and have a little fun.
* ahem *
I say all this because I just finished a tour of duty. (You’ll understand the “duty/doody” double entendre soon.) A good friend of ours had a hip replacement, and because no one else would return her calls, she asked me if I would come during the days to take care of her three-year-old boy and six-year-old girl. I’d come as the dad left for work in the morning, and leave when he got home in the evening, so roughly from 8:00 in the morning to 6:00 at night for about two months. Since I can work anywhere my laptop is, I agreed to help.
The six-year-old girl, who we’ll call “Natalie,” since that’s her actual name, goes to school, so the bulk of the day was watching the three-year-old, who we’ll call “Jack” (see above). I arrived the first day brimming with confidence. After all, I have literally watched hundreds of children in my day. I knew the techniques. I knew how to instill respect and authority. I knew how to play “hide and seek” to get them to spend five minutes hiding in the closet so I could have some quiet time to myself. But what I discovered on my very first day – and every day after that – was a tear in the space-time fabric so large that, much like a black hole, swallowed the very essence of time itself.
I was playing “war planes” (more on this later) with Jack for several hours. I was weary from the amount of attention it took (mind you, I usually spend most of my days alone, and I’m an introvert) to keep a child occupied for such a length of time. Thinking it surely had to be near lunchtime, I glanced at the clock. I was gob-smacked with the aforementioned rift in the space-time continuum. It was 8:15. 15 minutes of Earth-time had elapsed when in reality four hours of “war plane” time had elapsed. Where’s my Supernanny now?
Before I go on, I must explain the playing habits of a three-year-old boy. There are many games. The previously mention “war planes.” “Lightning McQueen” car games. Lincoln Logs. Yet all of these activities have a striking similarity. I will present it in “Theater Writing Style” below.
“War Planes”:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘war planes’!”
[Jack picks up toy airplanes, hands one to Todd]
[Jack proceeds to smash toy airplanes into each other while making crashing noises]
“Lightning McQueen,” the vehicle from the movie “Cars” game:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘Lightning McQueen’!”
[Jack picks up a “Lightning McQueen” toy car, hands another toy car to Todd]
[Jack proceeds to smash toy cars into each other while making crashing noises.]
“Lincoln Logs” game:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘Lincoln Logs’!”
[Jack dumps out huge vat of “Lincoln Logs” onto floor, tells Todd to build a house]
[Jack proceeds to smash all logs together while making crashing noises.]
One can insert any variation of toy into above scenarios, and you get the idea.
It’s now only 8:20.
Up Next: Desperate pleas and “play parks.”
* ahem *
I say all this because I just finished a tour of duty. (You’ll understand the “duty/doody” double entendre soon.) A good friend of ours had a hip replacement, and because no one else would return her calls, she asked me if I would come during the days to take care of her three-year-old boy and six-year-old girl. I’d come as the dad left for work in the morning, and leave when he got home in the evening, so roughly from 8:00 in the morning to 6:00 at night for about two months. Since I can work anywhere my laptop is, I agreed to help.
The six-year-old girl, who we’ll call “Natalie,” since that’s her actual name, goes to school, so the bulk of the day was watching the three-year-old, who we’ll call “Jack” (see above). I arrived the first day brimming with confidence. After all, I have literally watched hundreds of children in my day. I knew the techniques. I knew how to instill respect and authority. I knew how to play “hide and seek” to get them to spend five minutes hiding in the closet so I could have some quiet time to myself. But what I discovered on my very first day – and every day after that – was a tear in the space-time fabric so large that, much like a black hole, swallowed the very essence of time itself.
I was playing “war planes” (more on this later) with Jack for several hours. I was weary from the amount of attention it took (mind you, I usually spend most of my days alone, and I’m an introvert) to keep a child occupied for such a length of time. Thinking it surely had to be near lunchtime, I glanced at the clock. I was gob-smacked with the aforementioned rift in the space-time continuum. It was 8:15. 15 minutes of Earth-time had elapsed when in reality four hours of “war plane” time had elapsed. Where’s my Supernanny now?
Before I go on, I must explain the playing habits of a three-year-old boy. There are many games. The previously mention “war planes.” “Lightning McQueen” car games. Lincoln Logs. Yet all of these activities have a striking similarity. I will present it in “Theater Writing Style” below.
“War Planes”:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘war planes’!”
[Jack picks up toy airplanes, hands one to Todd]
[Jack proceeds to smash toy airplanes into each other while making crashing noises]
“Lightning McQueen,” the vehicle from the movie “Cars” game:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘Lightning McQueen’!”
[Jack picks up a “Lightning McQueen” toy car, hands another toy car to Todd]
[Jack proceeds to smash toy cars into each other while making crashing noises.]
“Lincoln Logs” game:
Jack: “Let’s play ‘Lincoln Logs’!”
[Jack dumps out huge vat of “Lincoln Logs” onto floor, tells Todd to build a house]
[Jack proceeds to smash all logs together while making crashing noises.]
One can insert any variation of toy into above scenarios, and you get the idea.
It’s now only 8:20.
Up Next: Desperate pleas and “play parks.”
