I Love My Grandkid, but Hate Babysitting!

Reason #47 Why Tigers Eat Their Young

Now that I am watching a toddler on a regular basis, I have spotted a missed opportunity for The Dory, our local watering hole. The Dory has a pond in back of it and in the winter they float a little raft with a Christmas Tree out on the pond to everyone’s delight. Eating lunch at The Dory with a toddler is impossible unless you have duct taped the little darling to the chair. I began to wonder, what if The Dory furnished floating playpens? You could have lunch with another adult, anchor the kid out about thirty feet; close enough to monitor them, but not so close that they could swim in. Yep, an opportunity missed.

“Mom, how come you bought Daiquiri Mix and liquor? You don’t drink,” asked my daughter.
“I thought it might be better than using Xanex.”
“But you’re over fif.......”
“DON’T SAY IT! Don’t you dare say that “f” word!”
“Is it the baby? Is she too much for you?”
“What? That precious child?”
“Yes, Mom, that precious child. The one who throws your shoes in the toilet, snaps your glasses apart, crayons your TV screen, throws raw eggs on the floor, constantly strips off her clothes and diaper, runs from you and fights you when you try to catch her and get a diaper on her, pulls down curtains, throws the remote across the room, shoves jelly toast in the VCR slot, empties your handbag, plays with your car keys and loses them, insists on answering the phone and won’t let you have a turn to talk, pours cups of water on you when you bathe her, sticks her fingers in your lipstick, won’t eat anything you fix her, unless it’s on your plate, then she wants it all, yells in the background whenever I call you to see how things are, figures out cabinet locks and empties cabinets, colors your walls, floors, and windows with her Crayola’s, tears pages out of your books, colors in your magazines, screams on the other side of the bathroom door the whole time you’re in the can, flips the outdoor light switch on and off whenever its not blocked by an object she can’t move or pull down. Is it the hours of watching Sesame Street reruns on TiVO, or the way she uses all furniture as a jungle gym and insists on climbing up over the arms of everything instead of just sitting down normally, or the hours of watching The Princess and the Frog movie, or the hours of coloring on paper with her, or worrying that when she sticks the crayons in her ears that you won’t be able to get them out, is it the way she can tantrum for twenty minutes straight without drawing a breath, or the way she empties the dryer when you’re in the bathroom and throws the clothes all over, or the way she grabs for your coffee cup and fights you for it and the hot coffee spills all over you, or the way she kicks the wall for nearly an hourly when you put her to bed? Am I getting close?”
“She’s just an active, normal two year old. I can handle her.”
“Not if you’re downing dacqueri’s, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, you misunderstand. The dacqueri’s are for her..... the spawn of Satan.”
“You can’t give a baby liquor!”
“Not more than three drinks a day, I promise.”
“I know you’re just joking, Mom. You’re not going to turn yourself or her into a drunk.”
“I’m just thinking that the whole babysitting thing would be easier for both of us if one of us was plastered...just until she’s five and start’s school....what are you doing?”
“I think I need a drink now...”

Outing Nana

My name is “Sephira-get-down!” I will be two in October. My grandmother, and yes, I said grandmother, has been hiding me away from the world, claiming she found me on her steps rather than have the world know she is a grandmother. She whines that I’ll ruin her reputation as a hot cougar. I love her, but she is so delusional. So, for her own good, I am outing her.

She takes care of me while my mother works and we have fun all day. This morning around 8 AM, while she was getting out a gallon of milk to make me a bottle, I grabbed an egg from the fridge door without her knowledge, and let to fall to the floor. A second later, she slipped in the raw egg and landed on the kitchen floor with a big flop. She made a lot of different sounds from bad words to ouchy words. The milk was doing all right spreading on the floor, but I thought it could use some help, so I swished it all around with my hands.

Nana hurt her shoulder in the fall and had to crawl through the milk to the living room to pull herself up on the couch. I hopped on her back and rode her as she crawled into the living room. She got up on the couch all right, but then we both realized that the refrigerator was still open. It was a race to get back to the kitchen, but I won, and got to hurl out a few more eggs before my Nana got back to the kitchen and closed the door. Then she decided to mop the kitchen floor. She strapped me in my highchair which is inescapable because Nana bought the special Torquemada Designs for Toddlers highchair. I had to watch her ruin all my work. By 9 AM, we were beginning over and she made me some nice scrambled eggs for me to refuse to eat and fling over the side as I laughed in her face. Finally, she freed me from the highchair.

Nana likes to color, so around 10 AM I appease her and we color. She is old and coloring appears to be at the limit of her technological skills. She makes flowers and I overlay them with an abstract interpretation of her primitive art work. She tapes our pictures to her refrigerator so she can tell my mother that we made pictures today. Both of them really overreact to this “art” because they think they’re creating self-esteem for me. Neither of them seem to comprehend that I can manipulate both of them with ease because I already have a lock of my self esteem.

As I mentioned, I’ll be two in October, and I have already mastered the art of saying ”NO!” which helps me to create healthy boundaries. I know that what is mine is mine, what is theirs is mine, if I gave it to them but want it back it’s mine, if I even think it’s mine, it’s mine. Nana is having a little trouble with observing the “No!” boundaries I’m setting with her, but her low energy doesn’t allow her to fight me for too long and I’ve already hidden her pepper spray under the couch, so she usually capitulates in a matter of minutes.

After I refuse whatever she makes me for lunch, we go to the park. It’s fenced in so she can’t get away. I try to play nice with the other children, but they really get on my nerves, trying to keep all their toys instead of handing them over without a fight. We usually leave after I’ve inflicted my second injury on someone. The 18 month old kids are such easy marks. One good shove, and just like that, you have their toy.

We get home around 3 PM and by then, I’m ready to help Nana redecorate. I like to pull all the cushions off the chairs, clear her counters, and one good yank can take down any curtain. I take my crayons, snap a few carefully chosen colors in half and grind them into the carpet. I think it’s bold and the splash of color here and there updates Nana’s house. I try to coordinate the crushed colors in the carpet with colors that will go well on the wall. I can crush six crayons and draw on two walls in the time it takes Nana to cut up an apple for me.

Around 4 PM, Nana always seems to experience depression. She sits on her couch, not even trying to clean up after me. She mumbles to herself and shakes her head. I like it when she’s nice and sedate like this, it’s the best time for me to put Playdough in her hair or hide her glasses.

At 5 PM, my mother comes to get me. I will miss Nana, just when I’ve got her beaten to a standstill, I have to go and then start all over in the morning. On the other hand, my mother feels guilty that she has to work all day and, man, can I work that. Phase two of toddler domination begins....