Babysitter of the Year: The Early Days

It was my sister's anniversary over the weekend, and I volunteered to tend my nephew (the three year old one; it blows my mind to think I now have more than one) on Friday so she could go out to eat with her husband. But I had an appointment later that day, so I had to drop him off with my mom before that time--well before that time, if I knew what was good for me--and planned accordingly. What I didn't plan for was that everything--

"Everything?"

"EVERYTHING!!!!"

--takes an insanely long time when you're dealing with a three year old. His car seat has some kind of Rubik's Cube/MC Escher design, making it impossible to easily install in an automobile, and it takes forever to get him in and out of it*, and he needs to either be carried or placed in the cart of his choosing to get in and out of anyplace. Oh, and when I took him to lunch, he wanted nothing on the menu . . . until I'd ordered something for me, then he wanted me to order some for him. Not so he could eat it, mind you, but so he could smear it all over his clothes, chair, and face.

We were in Target, where I just had enough time to buy an item and get out when he announced that he had to go to the bathroom. Not soon, and not in a minute . . . right now. So we raced (literally running from the back of the store to the front) to the bathroom, so he could go into the handicapped stall and tell me I was not welcome in there whilst he moved his wee bowels, but demanding I come right away when his behind needed wiping.
We got back to the car. To my horror, I not only had missed my window for getting the lad back to his grandmother so I could make my appointment, I had very nearly become late for the appointment itself. So, I raced (not literally this time, though I did exceed the speed limit) back to town, calling my mother and asking her to meet me there, then calling the clinic to tell them I was going to be just a tad late. They told me I had a five minute window and if I wasn't there within those five minutes, my appointment would be given to someone else.

Well, I drove as fast as I dared (in retrospect, I wondered if I mightn't ought to have driven really really fast in an attempt to shave off a few seconds), and pulled into the nearest available spot. I looked at the clock. "Crap," I said, then jumped out of the car and ran (raced, if you will) into the clinic, only to find that I was seven minutes late and indeed, my slot was no longer mine.

I trudged back to the car, where the boy was still strapped into the back seat, probably imagining he had been abandoned to bake in the sun like the babies you hear about in all those awful news stories (usually on FOX). I got back into the driver's seat, and my nephew said, "You said shit."

"What?"

"Why did you sayed shit?"

I realized what he was talking about. "No, I said crap. There's a difference."

"Nuh uh. You sayed shit. What happen?"**

"Nothing," I said. "Looks like I can take you to the pet store now."

While he whooped with delight, I had to admit, while I think I said "crap," I had meant "shit."

Rish Tiberius Outfield


*But they are necessary, apparently. You may remember the last time I drove him around without one, and how I very nearly caused the end of the entire fugging world.

**Look, I realize that I want to kill every mother loving one of you when you (incorrectly) think it's funny to attribute this sort of cutesy child-English to internet cats and now you think my finding it amusing when my nephew does it makes me a hypocrite . . . but it's not the same thing. Not even remotely. You bastard.