Je fais partie d’une catégorie de femmes dont je ne sais pas si elle est répandue ou non. La catégorie des filles uniques dont 90% des cousins vivaient sous d’autres latitudes et qui a réussi à se rendre à l’âge de 32 ans non seulement sans avoir de bébé elle-même mais sans qu’aucune de ses amies proches ne devienne mère non-plus. Au résultat je fais partie de la catégorie de femmes de 32 ans qui n’a jamais eu à s’occuper d’un tout petit bébé, jamais.

Mais une des données de mes statistiques a changé le mois dernier. Une amie a accouché de son premier enfant. Eh oui.
Gros bouleversements dans ma tête à l’annonce de sa grossesse ansi qu’à l’annonce de l’arrivée du petit nouveau. C’était effectivement la première amie qui soit de ma génération qui attire mon attention sur le fait que j’ai 32 ans et que je n’ai toujours pas d’enfant. Inutile d’en dire plus vous imaginez bien la petite crise existentielle que j’ai traversée.

Il y a deux jours je dînais chez mon amie et elle m’expliquait ses craintes quant à prendre une babysitter qu’elle ne connaît pas pour garder son petit chou. Je lui ai répondu, en pensant sincèrement chaque mot de ce que je disais: “C’est dommage que je n’aie aucune expérience avec les bébés, je t’aurais offert de le garder.”

Sachant donc la catégorie dans laquelle je me trouve, vous imaginez bien ma surprise mon effroi quand la maman personne complètement inconsciente me répond qu’elle non-plus il y a un mois n’avait jamais eu d’expérience avec les bébés, que ça venait tout seul, et qu’elle aurait vraiment confiance si je le gardais. J’ai souri me suis étouffée avant d’accepter, me disant que de toutes façons, à cette idée saugrenue, c’est le papa qui allait s’étouffer et remettre les choses à leur place. Mais non.

Le lendemain, je suis donc partie à 22H00, nounou apprentie, pour prendre mon poste et apprendre en moins de quinze minutes ce que j’aurais aimé pouvoir étudier pendant trois semaines, avant de me retrouver toute seule dans une maison avec un petit être qui, à moins que je m’en occupe bien, ne survivra pas.

J’apprends donc à changer une couche, à chauffer les biberons, à ne pas m’inquiéter systématiquement parce qu’il fait “iii” ou “aaa”, et voilà, l’aventure est lancée. Mon amie croyait avoir le temps de lui donner son biberon avant de partir, mais le petit rigolo a décidé de se réveiller alors que le taxi attendait déjà devant la maison. Je me suis donc retrouvée avec le petit être dans les bras et le biberon à la main. Quand la porte s’est refermée derrière mon amie je peux vous dire… je crois que je ne me suis jamais sentie aussi seule au monde. La première idée qui me soit venue doit vaguement ressembler à quelque chose comme: “Ne meurs pas dans mes bras s’il-te-plaît.”

Alors je dois dire que de passer quatre heures comme ça, ce fut un événement. Un événement au cours duquel j’ai dû faire face à de nombreuses et différentes angoisses. Des angoisses comme:
Est-ce que cette tête ça veut dire qu’il est en pleine dépression ou il ne se rend pas compte de ce qu’il fait? Est-ce que cette tête ça veut dire qu’il est en train d’avoir la peur de sa vie ou est-ce que le fait qu’il enchaîne sur une grimace comique ça annule tout? Alors qu’il est en train de téter le biberon et qu’il s’arrête net et ne bouge plus, c’est qu’il s’est subitement endormi en mangeant ou bien qu’il est mort? Pourquoi il sourit en coin comme ça? Qu’est-ce qu’il regarde juste derrière moi fixement alors qu’il n’y a personne ici? Pourquoi il m’observe comme ça il ne m’aime pas? EST-CE QUE LE HOQUET ÇA PEUT TUER UN NOURRISSON? Quand il fait une bulle est-ce que la prochaine étape c’est l’étouffement? Devenir tout rouge c’est synonyme d’agonie? Est-ce qu’il se rend compte qu’il est mon premier bébé et qu’il se dit “Je suis pas dans la merde..”?  Est-ce que je dois changer le film à la télé parce qu’il y a des coups de feux dedans? Je vais baisser le son quand même. Ah ben j’entends plus rien. Au moment du rot, quand on le met vertical et que la tête s’enfonce dans les épaules, est-ce que ça arrête de s’enfoncer à un moment? Quand je change sa couche, le temps qu’il a les fesses à l’air et qu’il éternue, est-ce que ça veut dire qu’il va attraper une pneumonie? Bon je le rhabille ou cas où.

Voyez…

Mais bon. Bien évidemment, au-delà de tout ça, ce que je retiens surtout c’est une impression extraordinaire d’être tout d’un coup assez grande pour vivre ça. Assez grande pour être responsable de la survie d’un petit être démuni. Assez grande pour m’occuper à 100% de quelqu’un d’autre que de moi-même – au moins pendant quatre heures, c’est déjà un début

Puis il y a eu le fait d’être face au plus grand des possibles. Face à quelqu’un qui n’a encore jamais rien dit, jamais rien fait, qui n’a pas encore fait d’erreurs, qui n’a pas encore perdu de temps… quelqu’un qui a encore une chance de devenir quelqu’un de parfait et de faire les choses bien. Je sais bien qu’il deviendra aussi quelqu’un avec ses défauts et ses qualités, mais c’est juste le fait d’être là, à ce moment précis où cette théorie de perfection potentielle  existe encore. J’ai trouvé ça magique.

Et pour finir le sentiment de joie immense quand on se rend compte que ce petit être décide qu’à tel moment, il se sent mieux dans vos bras que tout seul dans son petit lit; qu’il pleure quand il est allongé mais qu’il cesse de pleurer et s’endort dès que vous le prenez. Ça rassure sur soi-même. On se dit que si on arrive à faire ça, un petit truc qui semble aussi simple mais qui au final est si énorme, c’est qu’on doit avoir du bon en soi…
Sans compter la confiance témoignée par les deux parents en me laissant ce à quoi ils tiennent le plus au monde…

Oui. Je dois dire que grâce à cette petite soirée pouponnage,  je me suis levée un peu plus grande et un peu plus fière de moi ce matin.

Today I was charged with the responsibility of watching my sister in law Angela’s two boys for the evening while she and Kelly went to see the new Twilight movie “New Moon”.  So while the girls were out being entertained by vampires and werewolves I decided to help the boys create a mystical, fiction adventure of their own.  Nate, Grant, Georgia, Luke and Bella were all wearing foam crowns at Sunday supper, which came from the children’s time in church today.  And they had all dubbed themselves Kings and Queens of various things.  Grant, for example, having drawn lightning bolts all over his crown, was the King of Lightning.  Nate, always one to stick close to his older brother but also thirsting for a healthy amount of originality, called himself the King of Rain, which made him pretty powerful as he figured that without rain, nothing would grow.  How wise kids can be.

Once the ladies left for their movie night, we got right to business in my backsmith shop (garage) building swords so that the boys could really complete the king image.  What is a King after all, without a sword?  There is some back story to their demands for custom built weapons, however.  About a week ago I was watching my other sister in law Sarah’s boy Luke (this is starting to look like a pattern) and I had given him a small wooden dagger that I had whittled out of a stick of wood with a carving knife when I was about 11 or 12 years old.  It was sitting in a box of random things from my children and I just figured Luke would love to have it.  Well, I was more right about that than I could have predicted, and when his older cousins Grant and Nate saw it later that day they burst into tears upon discovering that no, there were no wooden daggers for them.  Only for Luke.  How unfair life can be, heh?  Seems like a simple lesson for a child to learn, an important lesson.  But we adults sure like to pity ourselves too when we see things we wish we had for ourselves.

So, since tonight was Grant and Nate’s turn to spend some time with their Uncle Ben, I decided to relieve their jealousy by doing a little more whittling.  But, as I discovered, it wasn’t going to be good enough to just fabricate two identical wooden swords for the brothers.  Something had to make them each unique so they could tell them apart.  Something, as it turns out, also had to make one of them “better” than the other one.  So, as I zipped the spruce lumber through the table saw and then made various cuts to form the handles and blades, I got as creative as I could with little time and crude, dangerous power tools.  The end result was two swords that at first glance are very, very similar, but upon closer inspection are actually totally different weapons, completely customized for the particular King they were being crafted for.  Nate’s was a double edged broad sword with a two-hand grip and a fancy cross guard (think He-Man) while Grant’s had an ordinary cross guard and a single hand grip but was more ornately styled with a cross inscribed into the grip and a yin yan symbol hand carved into the pommel.  They were pretty stoked about their swords to say the least and couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear as I tapped them on the shoulders with their new blades and Knighted them Sir Grant and Sir Nate.

However, throughout the entire fabrication process, and even during the sword fights that followed, Grant inundated me with a steady string of questions about which one was harder to make and which handle was cooler or which blade was better.  Clearly for Grant it was cool to get a sword, but way cooler if his sword was the best weapon of them all.

I got to thinking, as I watched the young brothers pretending to hack each others’ limbs off, that I’m often the same way.  We all have an arsenal of weapons in life and when our assortment of defenses, shields and walls fail us, we draw those weapons upon the people in our lives who are the closest.  We don’t use wooden daggers on strangers and enemies because the walls and moats keep them at bay.  But our spouses, siblings, parents, those are the people who we let get close.  And sometimes, when we ourselves least expect it, we pull out our swords against our loved ones.  As a preemptive attack in response to something that was likely never intended to offend us or threaten us, we strike first.  Don’t we all do it?

When you’re in a play sword fight you never really swing with the intent to cause your opponent real pain.  But you also never choose the shorter, flimsier sword either.  We subconsciously tell ourselves that if someone’s going to get their knuckles whacked, it’s not going to be us.  And when it comes to comparing what we’ve got in our belt to what our brother or cousin is carrying, we love them all the same but please uncle tell me mine’s the best one.  Right?  Kids at 4, 6, and 8 years old can be so unbelievably humbling and disarming.  I think in my role today as the lowly sword maker to those three royal knights of the round kitchen table, I learned a thing or two.  I learned about just being okay with whatever it is we’re given, and realizing that there will always be someone else out there with a cooler sword, so there’s no point in comparing.  And most of all, I learned that when you really truly let someone into your life, into the most unguarded rooms of your castle, there will inevitably be times when you feel hurt or suspect you are under attack, but if you can just learn to trust and feel safe in that place and in that relationship, there will be a lot less bruises in the end.

Picture number two:

4 day old kittens!

Funny story, last Saturday my neighbour (well down the road), Rachel, asked me to Baby Sit her 3 boys, that was fine as I babysit them all the time. I arived that evening and their cat Mushka, was going in to labour! Her water had broken and she was looking for a place to nest. Rachel and Josh went out (Rachel really wanted to stay to see the kittens.) I spent the night moving her from the boys beds (thats where she wanted to have them!) and keeping an eye on her. Saddly though she didn’t have them while I was there, it was later that night (1am in Rach and Josh’s Bed!) but I heard all about it the next morrning at church.

This evening I baby sat again, and took pictures of the cuties, you can see 3 out of the four + muma cat.

Dopo aver esplorato Il Piemonte e la Lombardia, per trovare i luoghi piu’ interessanti e divertenti dove portare i bambini, oggi vediamo cosa ci offre
il Lazio e in particolare la capitale.

ROMA

Dove portare i bambini? Ludoteche,centri,baby parking.Roma – 100bimbi.

Being a full time nanny is very different from occasional baby sitting.

The occasional baby sitter benefits from the sense of novelty. If the child knows the baby sitter well, he/she looks forward to her/his visits–the baking treats, the special bag of tchotchkes, story time. But a full time nanny has to deal with a lot of the not so fun activities. Getting up for school. Cleaning the child’s room. Homework.

Granted, though I am a live in nanny, I technically get off work when the mom comes home, generally at 3 or 4. The older girls, with the occasional exception, generally take care of themselves, but the 6 year old Silvino? I need to chase after him about a lot of things, often telling him 5-10 times before something gets done.

This of course is typical of children (heck, my mom still has to tell me several times to do something, too). But it gets exhausting day in and day out. Yelling is ineffectual, plus I downright cringe at doing so. So lately I’ve been thinking about ways to get Silvino to cooperate.

I read in the New York Times an article about unconditional love. Silvino isn’t my son, but I think it’s still important for him not to feel obliged to do something because otherwise I’ll withhold affection. Who wants children who only do what you want because they hear your nagging voice in the back of their heads? So I’ve set up an incentive system of sorts–if Silvino listens (for the most part) and does as he is told he gets a star for the day. Stars mean several things, but the ultimate prize is a treat at the end of the week.

Despite the incentives, Silvino does not get a star every day. We’re making progress. It’s about the baby steps here, people.

I mostly eat my vegetables, with lots of love. But some days, I’d rather have anything but my veggies. Enter a few incentives:

I topped my steamed broccoli with tomato basil sauce and dipped white sweet potato cheetahs (welcome back into my life lovers!) in ketchup, hummus, and Naturally More peanut butter.

I needed all the veggie incentives in the form of dipping sauces I could get. I also baked some tofu a la Gliding Calm in a soy sauce/mustard/agave sauce. The hind of sweet, spicy, and salty worked very well.

With these incentivies for your veggies, the choice to go for the veg is obvious!

In other news, my morning was spent watching these buggers:

I help out at a local yoga studio in exchange for classes, and today I baby sit while the wee ones’ moms were vinyasa-ing. And yes, Mr. Blondie fell asleep on my lap, he was kind of hard to move! The girl doesn’t look too happy in the photo, but she was totally boogying to some grooves afterwards, she’s so cute! I returned to the studio for some Ashtanga in the p.m.–hopefully yoga is enough cross training for my marathon schedule!

What are some of your tactics for baby sitting? Have any tips?

A toute a l’heure!
Maya

Had a gastronomical birthday. Seriously, it feels like all we did since Friday is eat and eat and eat.

Started off Thursday evening after picking up the munchies for work; I got myself a pecan-nut-pie. I love pecan-nut-pie. Still think the Pick ‘n Pay in Plumstead makes the best ones. Henk doesn’t eat it. So I had me a little pre-celebration slice (quarter) of pie).

Friday teatime I dished out the munchies. We’ve eaten so much cake the past month (Amelia’s birthday I brought cake to work. Working on the budget Marianne brought us cake. Yusuf retired and we had cake – all chocolate nê). So to break the habit I got us some mini chicken pies, and savoury tarts, mini milk tarts and hertzoggies and mini spinach-feta quiche.

Friday evening Henk to me to a Paiter’s Grill for my birthday. I didn’t want anything big this year, will save that for the big three-oh. Dalene came to baby-sit Amelia. She complained that there was nothing to do baby wise. Before we left I put Amelia down to sleep. She didn’t stir the whole time we were gone.
The food was delish: my filet tender and perfect colour; baked cheesecake like velvet.

Saturday morning I dropped Amelia off with Dalene again while I ran some errands. Apparently she was a handful, lol. My last few stops I tagged Amelia along. At 11 kg’s she gets a bit heavy to carry – no, she isn’t walking yet. That’s another story. And she’s a babe magnet. Everywhere I go people stop us and talk to her. Never mind the backs of crockery I’m also carrying.

Saturday evening Henk had some friends over for a braai. I don’t like salad. I eat it, but I’m not fond of making it if I don’t have to. So I shoved some veggies in the oven and baked them with some olive oil. The woman can’t stop raving about how no one she knows ever makes veggies for a braai, and it’s a stunning idea. I’m still not fond of salad. Again we ate like pigs. Great pun since we had pork neck.

Then yesterday the same bunch of us, kiddies in tow, bundled into their Mercedes Van and had lunch at Muisbosskerm at Lambertsbaai. (Almost, but not quite like a buffet) I’m still stuffed from all that food. I tried everything. From the steamed mussels, snoek, baked fish, paella, affal pot, wildspot and waterblommetjie bredie, bakbrood and koeksisters. Amelia even nibbled on a crayfish leg.

Got home around 5pm. I just wanted to sleep, but Amelia had other plans. She went to bed around 7pm. We followed soon after.

All in all a great time. I’m on call for the next few weeks, so can’t gallivant around too much.

Bonjour,

Nous sommes quatre jeunes filles en seconde au Lycée d’Uturoa, et désirons garder des enfants.
Il nous est possible de nous déplacer, et nous avons toutes de l’expérience dans ce domaine.
Voici nos coordonnées : – Girard Yoko tel :66 33 79 e-mail : yoko.girard@hotmail.fr
- Czyba Pauline tel : 66 32 68 e-mail : paulineczyba@hotmail.fr
- Gerard Alizée tel : 66 37 67 (vini 78 52 08) e-mail : gerard.alizée@mail.pf
- Kraëber Héléna tel : 66 13 51 (vini 22 86 56) e-mail : lna.kraeber@laposte.net

Pour plus d’informations n’hésitez pas à nous contacter !

Yoko, Pauline, Alizée, Héléna.

Depending on which parent you talk to the one-eyed baby sitter is:
a) the cause of all evil in children today;
b) a great educational tool when appropriate programs are chosen;
c) a useful timeout for parents and children;
d) another source of entertainment;
e) not worth putting that much thought into.

The three year old was still wondering what happened to our families intense 3 week dedication to the 6pm Tour De France highlights on SBS when the World Athletics Championships rolled around. To a toddler it must be confusing and at the same time fascinating  the way these things fade in and out of the consciousness. She is still talking about going in a plane and a “holiday house” from a holiday two months ago.

Back to the television and the Athletics. Every so often the 3 year old and I have a “Ready, Setty, Go” race. She wins, I win, everybody wins. Up until the World Athletics Championships she did what is officially called a “standing” start like a distance runner. In the week after the Championships she started doing a “crouch” start like a sprinter. This change was completely inspired by watching the Jamaicans and Americans putting their backsides in the air for a week.

Thanks to the wonders of the one-eyed baby sitter I don’t need a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet to budget for sprinting lessons. She already has it worked out and I can probably start planning on being an ugly parent and penciling in the 2028 100m Olympic final (and 2032 for the baby).

Last night, I had my first baby-sitting job in 14 years. Saying I have had baby-sitting jobs in the past is a little bit of an over-statement. In middle school I watched the kids on our street a couple of times, but never without my mom posted up at our own house down the street. I changed a Pull-Up one time, but only because the little girl told me to, and even then, she had to show me how to get the danged thing off. A kid barfed on my watch once too, and as I watched her prance around afterward, the throw-up seeping into the carpet, I knew there was only one thing to do. I called my mom.

Frighteningly, I have somehow arrived at child-bearing age, with the above child-care resume still current. Actually, according to my doctor, I’m in danger of sailing right past it. “Everything gets harder after you turn 30,” she says. I know kids are something I want in my life. Who else is going to change my diapers when I’m old and senile and talking to the ceiling fan? But just because I know I want kids doesn’t mean I have any idea what to do with them.

I hear from my friends and my mom that there is no class you have to take before you can bring human life into the world. This disturbs me because so far, in the 11 years in which I have been driving, I’ve taken driver’s ed, two defensive driving courses and two driving tests (because I failed the first one). Maybe people think driving is more dangerous than child rearing because if you’re a bad driver, you could kill someone. I agree that driving is dangerous. But if you’re a bad mother, your kid could grow up and kill EVERYONE. Shouldn’t there at least be a class?

My baby-sitting experience last night did nothing to beef up my child-care resume. When Drew and I showed up, with Truman in tow, the baby was already in her PJ’s, she’d already eaten dinner, she was already clean and cute and perfect, just the way I will have to convince myself babies always look before I can willingly become a mother. Our friends asked me if I wanted to take her upstairs to give her a bottle and put her to bed for the night. I jumped at the chance. I took her upstairs to her room, where the blinds were already shut and a dim lamp was turned on. I sat down in her rocking chair and arranged her in my lap to feed her a bottle. I brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her back and thought, this is easy. Motherhood is a cinch! No wonder there’s no class. What could they teach me that I instinctively don’t already know? I hummed a little nursery rhyme to her as I eased her head back against my arm. I hummed the first one that came to mind, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” not because it was my favorite, but because my instinct told me she would like it. As I hummed, I eased the bottle toward her. Suddenly, she started writhing about, tiny arms flailing against the bottle, milk splattering all over her precious pajamas and her perfect, clean hair. My instincts told me to just keep after it, so I tried to give her the bottle again. She was crying now, hands twisting near her mouth, blocking every pass I made with the bottle. I took a Kleenex, wiped the milk from her hair and her PJs, and listened to my instincts once more. My instincts told me there was only one thing to do.

I opened her door and hollered for her parents.

We did learn something about Truman from our baby-sitting job last night. He likes other dogs old chewed up bones much more than he likes his own. Instinctively, I already knew that, though.

Alone time.  It is a commodity that is rare and therefore quite valuable in our house.  As with many other parents we are generally joined with our loving offspring and due to our unique work schedules, time alone with my husband is regulated to two hours on Friday and Saturday night on a regular basis.  So when my sister, the fabulous Ms. Boo, offered to whisk our children away for a weekend with the grandparents we could not say no.

She picked them up on Friday afternoon and we will get them back first thing Monday morning.   That is approximentally 68 hours sans kiddos, or 17 weeks worth of Mommy and Daddy time.

What did we do with this time? We had a blast, naturally.  We did things we can not do with the young’uns.    We ate a pizza with jalapenos and pineapple on it (J dispises spicy things),  we went to a bar, we attended a birthday party that did not involve juice boxes and we stayed out as late as we wanted (not having a baby sitter to rush home and relieve).  We lounged in silent repose by the living room window, watching the leaves dance on the breeze.   Our coffee  trip did not involve chasing anyone about the shop pleading for a moment to finish eating.   We danced, we looked at each other, we slept in.  Drinks and curse words abounded.

Yet, during all this revelry, there was a little hole.  Usually filled with the presence of our sparkly-eyed children, it sat in our hearts, causing a sigh at the sweet babe grinning from the next table over. (Why is it that whenever we are out alone, babies seem to pick us out as awesome?  It is such a joy to inspire smiles on little people. There were at least two that cooed and beamed at us while we were out.)

While I know I will enjoy stretching out in our bed tonight, unencumbered by small limbs that seem to take up a vast amount of space,  I know that tomorrow morning when I have my kids in my arms will be even sweeter.

I thank my sister with all my heart (and my mom and dad too – not to mention my sister-in-law and Cole).  I feel like having them around has given our marriage room to blossom and grow. We are so fortunate to have people who are happy to spend time with the boys.

This weekend was like a hearty meal that will leave me sustained for weeks to come.   The next time I am annoyed by the usual antics, I will think back to this morning.  The Sun Salutation just didn’t feel the same without lifting the babe during Warrior Pose or J going through the motions, adding sound effects to downward dog and cow pose.

Once again, I am reminded of how truly blessed my life is.

And now for a photo sent to me from my sister.  J went fishing (for the first time ever) with his aunts, uncle and Papaw.  He caught eight fish and this is the first one.  According to my sister, “He screamed like it was going to get him” when it was brought close enough for the picture.  When I told him I had seen the photo of him and his first fish, he asked me, “Did I look tough, Mama?”

What do you guys think?

Faces were obscured to protect the fishing.  (All fishies were thrown back to swim another day.)

When your age begins with a 6, you know you aren’t young anymore.  However, you don’t necessarily feel old. 

Not until you take care of four boys six and under for a full day. 

Really, the three oldest aren’t much trouble.  It’s that 17 month old who has to touch everything and pick it up and look at you innocently when you tell him for the 97th time he shouldn’t be doing something - like banging on the piano keys.

Less than two hours till bedtime, and less tan two days till Katie comes home from the hospital.

I would post a picture of the baby, but since I am the designated sitter I haven’t been able to go to the hospital to see her.  All they’ve sent me is a photolink that I can’t get to copy and post.  She looks a lot like her mother when she was a baby, but that doesn’t help anyone (well, except maybe Elaine and Doug).

It’s been a good day, with the kids and me playing at both houses and making cookies, Bud grilling hamburgs and hot dogs for supper, and the kids telling me that my homemade dill pickles are “awesome.”  Noah gets major brownie points for being the first to do that.  He also gets a quart of pickles to take home with him.

Now if I could just find a way to get the swelling in my left hand to go down it would be a perfect day.  I got stung by two bees yesterday evening – one on the left arm and one on the hand.  I can hardly see where I got stung on my arm, but the hand looks an awful lot like a lobster claw.  It’s so swollen I can hardly bend the fingers.  I took two Benadryl last night, which kept it from swelling but knocked me out.  I woke up with it swollen this morning though, and tried another Benadryl around noon to try and take the swelling down.  All it did was make it difficult to stay awake.

On the upside, with it all swollen the skin looks nice and young and smooth, and all the old-lady veins are hidden.  Let’s look for the upside where we can find it.

Tentative plans are to extract the honey on August 22, then the bees may not need as much attention.  Hope I get a lot of honey, and that it tastes good.

The dog took one look at me, his wiry black tail slicing the air like a boomerang,  and pounced.  I had barely taken the key out of the door to let in the temperamental cat before I was assaulted by 100 pounds of chocolate lab.

For this, I have no one to blame but myself.  I knew what I was getting into when I sat down in May to brainstorm ways to cobble together the funds I’ll need to sustain myself while traipsing around South America in the fall.  First of all, I realized pretty quick that on a scale of one to ten in the marketable skills category, I was ranging somewhere between a 2.5 and a 4.

OK, again, only myself to blame. No one held a gun to my forehead and told me to study journalism. I’m a writer, it’s just what I love doing. Unfortunately, while I practically slept with my AP Stylebook under my pillow and learned to fact check until I was blue in the face, no one told me these skills wouldn’t get me very far in a world where print journalism is slowly becoming obsolete and no one could give a rat’s fart whether I’ve spelled out numerals one through nine (for the record, you should).

Other than clocking countless hours at enough internships to qualify me for some kind of  free labor penchant plan (don’t get excited – they don’t actually exist), my only other work history includes a 3 year stint at the Gap where I dressed mannequins and practiced my “Of course you don’t look fat in those jeans!” face, one sad year spent folding mom jeans at Kohl’s, another stuffing envelopes at a short-lived office job, and mass producing my notes for people too hungover to show for class.

Hence my dilemma… where to work when you’ve got hardly any useful skill set to offer?

The answer: Children, dogs and computers.

Just when those applications for the GAP started to look not quite so bad after all, I realized I do indeed have some pretty sweet talents I haven’t gotten around to exercising yet. Here are a few:

1. Stomach of steel.

Why it’s good: Scooping mounds of dog poo off sidewalks and out of the neighbor’s hydrangea bush is no problem if you have no gag reflex. Score one for the dog-sitter! Since June I’ve supervised the bowel movements of two geriatric dalmatians for an entire week (not for the faint of tummy, I assure you) and was most recently the warden of a 4 month old chocolate lab (see above anecdote).

Meet Murphy (When he wasn't pouncing on any living thing within a 10-foot radius).

Although I’m pretty sure he was possessed by the spirit of a kangaroo doped up seven different flavors of speed. I have the scratches to prove it.

2.  Super human computer skills.

Why it’s good: OK, maybe I don’t have super human computer skills, but I could type 100 wpm at age 11 and I can Facebook stalk with the best of them. This made me perfectly qualified to score a job in the public library computer lab where for about 20 hours per week I dole out computer counsel to our keyboard illiterate clientel.  Mostly I divide my time between reading (given), waging war against our temperamental print station and perfecting my skills with the fax machine.  It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

3. Stain resistant clothing.

Why it’s good: Noah had a nasty glint in his eye. One chubby fist was wrapped around a forkful of spaghetti. The other gripped the edge of the dinner table, giving him leverage for the launch.  Before I knew it was I was splattered in tomato sauce. This all went down sometime after I was forced to endure two hours of Pokemon Monopoly and right before bath time, when he and his twin sister dumped half a bottle of bubbles into the tub and dumped so much water on the floor during a game of “super fast speed cars!” that I spent half the night mopping.

Welcome to the world of baby sitting. This is no occupation for silk or satin. So, it’s a pretty good thing I’m too broke to own any.

To be frank, after spending 5 days wiping up puddles of bloody dog pee and hauling around a partially-paralyzed dalmatian, kids are a walk in the park.  I just offer myself up as a human playground and hang on until 10 p.m. when mom and dad come home to rescue relieve me. Piece of cake.

Well…usually I just end up wearing the cake.

4. Stamina.

Why its good: When your news editor calls and says you’re going to be covering county commissioner meetings for the next few weeks, there’s only one way to prepare:  load up on caffeine, pile extra snacks into your purse and settle in for a string of very…very, very, very long evenings.

Actually, I should be happy to be freelancing this summer for the local newspaper. It keeps me writing and reminds me to pick up that AP Stylebook and dust it off once in a while. And if I’m being truly honest here – which is what this blog’s all about – I might get a little bit of a high seeing my byline in the paper.  The strange thing about this scenario is that I was sort of raised for the past few years to scorn the very newsroom in which I now file my stories. We rivaled them at our student newspaper and would hold up our front page next to theirs while rolling around laughing at their incompetence.

Cut to now: I’ve realized the past is the past and I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and blah blah blah…the point is, they were willing to add me to the payroll and I was willing to forget I used to roll my eyes every time I walked by their building.

Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.

Recently a Super Homie of mine (Chris Ebling) moved off to Arkangay! So I am now accepting new Super Homie applications. Chris and I hung out a lot while we were roommates. We shared a lot of similar interests and a lot of good times. But you can’t just be any geek off the street there are some pretty serious requirements.

This is Chris! Big shoes to fill.

Here is a list of activities/duties that a Super Homie may have to perform or participate in at some point:

Nude Dart War Battles

Have to enjoy extremely good/bad Horror/SciFi Films

Skateboarding!

Can not be afraid of male nudity?

Babysitting

AM Sessions

Mediocre Goodtimes!

Art!

Blogs

Listening to bitching/complaining/whining!

Mustache support/protection.

Road Trips

Not Moving to Arkansas.

Bowling!

Uncircumcised.

Dog the Bounty Hunter

Chris has been gone for awhile now and I am getting pretty down. Samantha and I both miss our movie watching homie. The AM sessions are not as packed and who else will watch the kids for a movie and some internet!

I miss you Chris come back home!

Please email all applications to mediocremandbclub@hotmail.com.

hola amigos! what it do? good. ok.

so chilling here at jades for a few days, babysitting as her momma puts it. i’ve had a really nice morning and last night was good too. we just chilled at home last night and had us some laughs. i actually went to bed at a decent hour for once, and slept 9 hours, which was beyond amazing, considering i usually rope in anywhere from 4-6. this morning i woke up and let her go ahead and sleep because she has the same ridiculous sleep patterns that i once suffered from ( i.e. going to bed at 5:45 am and waking up at 2 or so). now im just chilling here tapping this thing out for you cool kids, drinking some java. no one says java anymore, i think im going to bring it back. i don’t really know what we’re going to get into today, but im going to go ahead and gaurentee that it will be good times, whatever we decide to do.

so now im going to discuss something with you, much like i did in the last blog. did you even read it? well go back and read it then. geez. i can’t do anything with you. okay. here’s what’s up this time around. video blogs. should i or shouldn’t i? if you know me in real life, then you know that im pretty quick on my toes with my words and phrases, and i’ve been known to make people laugh, but i’ve also been known to let my smart mouth get me in trouble. so im considering doing the video blog thing and seeing how it works out, but at the same time, im so use to doing these that i would probably feel weird talking to my computer. my other question is would people even bother to watch them? i mean i do get a decent amount of views on this bad boy, but most of the time it flucuates like crazy. so im not quite positive about it right now. jade and russell have been trying to talk me into doing them, but i don’t feel like i have anything good enough to say in them. they’re both planning on starting their own, so maybe ill just use one of their webcams and trying it out. if i like it enough, i may get one. who knows. let me hear what you think. and if you read this, will you please identify yourself? i am so curious as to who reads these. i don’t care who you are or what you do, let me know.

and here’s something cool for you to think about, because the last couple i’ve written have been very wordy.

photo from (http://www.flickr.com/photos/deia/)

All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.

- Galileo Galilei

I was being a responsible sister, baby-sitting my 5 year old brother and 7 year old sister. I thought, on top of my duties, I would mix up some cookies. Maybe I was trying to make up for the time my brother stuck my keys into the electrical outlet (on my baby-sitting watch); it took months for the sautered keys to break from my key ring!

I very speedily mixed the batter with my mom’s Betty Crocker Hand Mixer, spinning the bowl with my hand so I could hold the mixer in one place. In order to streamline my mess, I ran the mixer under the tap to clean it. Following in this vein, I decided I would hold a kitchen towel with one hand, while whipping the mixer next to it to dry the beaters (why did I need to dry them? This proved to be my downfall).

Like a tornado, the beaters caught that towel, pulled it in, and with it, my hand! It is important to note: the release button on this hand mixer was always difficult to press – on a good day, it required the strength of both of my thumbs. I pulled the cord out of the wall and, screaming, began my run through the house. I carefully held the mixer/hand/towel conglomeration with my left hand as I blood-curdlingly squalled out for my brother or sister.

I finally stopped and sat on the stairs. And with my brother and sister looking on, I pulled that thing off my hand in a giant feat of pain-induced courage. And it hurt! And I think I now know the panic an animal feels when he chews off his own limb in order escape a trap. And my pinky was numb for months. And the cookies turned out fine.

1-23-09

My night. I went to babysit about 5:30. It was around 95 degrees outside. When I got there the kids all wanted to play outside…until Nick fell and scraped his knee. Then EVERYONE needed a bandaid. We played hide and seek and then traveled in our time machine to a bunch of different places, and apparently traveled back to a time before Isaiah was potty trained (that was Ben’s joke. Full credit goes to him!). Finally they got hot and sick of running around so we went inside. Snack time involved chocolate pudding. Trish left out baby spoons and said “little spoons, little mess”. False. Ana ate hers with her hands. I got out my camera to take a picture and then everyone wanted to take pictures. I have 100 some random pictures of the desk, the table, the clock,  and Isaiah’s hand on my camera.

When I got home, Sara and I talked for a while, being girls and planning our “weddings”. I was waiting up for Ben and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up I grabbed my computer and made my way to my room. Just as I was about to get in bed, Ben got online. We talked for a few minutes until my internet stopped working. I tried for about 5 minutes to fix it and then my laptop crapped out. I turned on the desktop and the internet wasn’t working there either. I jiggled wires and unplugged them and finally got the internet working. But Ben was gone by then. I decided to give him a call. But I couldn’t find my phone. I went into the living room where I knew I last had my phone but to no avail. I tried calling it with my dad’s phone but his ringtone is very quiet and I thought that’s why I couldn’t hear it. I tried with the house phone and walked all through the house. Straight to voicemail. I tore apart my room and dug out all of the couch cushions until I finally found it wedged in the crack of the sofa bed. It was off, of course and when I turned it back on, none of the missed calls or voicemail I’d just left showed up. So I called Ben, but now his phone is off too.

On a happy note, I finished season 5 of The Office. I’m finally caught up. On a slightly less happy note, I’m sentenced to clean my room tomorrow. It looks like a tornado went through it sometime this afternoon. I also have to go to church and practice organ for the weekend, balance my checkbook and take the stinkin time to read Outlander! I finally got myself hooked and have been on the go since then.

Movie date with my parents tomorrow night. I bought my dad Paul Blart Mall Cop for Father’s day but told him they had to wait for me to watch it and tomorrow is the first time we’ll all have a chance to sit together and watch it.

And now, since it’s 3 a.m and no one is online, I’ll bid you all adieu and surrender to sleep to the sounds of Tim “the Tool Man” Taylor.

Dance like no one’s watching.

Vous êtes jeune, vous avez des enfants, vous voulez les faire garder et en profiter pour détourner une jeune lycéenne encore naïve? Le site Babe-Sitters est fait pour vous petit coquin. Les baby-sitters qui y proposent leurs services exhibent fièrement leur physique à réveiller un bébé pendant sa sieste, agrémenté d’une note venant évaluer leur cuisine, patience, autorité et gentillesse, afin que vous fassiez le choix le plus judicieux pour votre enfant (parce qu’un papa heureux et détendu est plus cool avec sa progéniture). Faites attention par contre, ne mettez pas la jeune demoiselle enceinte, ça serait trop ironique.

Et pour ceux qui ont du mal à croire qu’un tel site existe, vous avez raison. Il s’agit en fait d’un fake, dont le but est de faire la promo d’une pièce de théâtre via le physique avantageux de Sam (la comédienne principale), qui a posté la seule vidéo visible sur ce site en flash. Une tentative de buzz qui aurait pu être pertinente, si la déception de ne pas pouvoir se rincer l’oeil tranquillement et de se rendre compte que c’est un fake n’était pas si forte. La preuve, je sais même plus de quelle pièce elle tentait de faire la promo.

If you would like to post your ad here click above to post your ad.

It’s beautiful. Blue sky, green glass, light breeze, Chris Tomlin playing off my iPod… I feel so content, like I rarely do when I am alone. I think I know what it is too… I’ve been reading, a lot. Normally I only read my Bible at night, every night, but just at night. Two days ago I began a summer reading plan that should have me through the Bible in 90 days, and it’s a lot of reading. (and, I’m actually reading more than what is required because of camping and other bumps I don’t want to fall on my face because of) and it’s been wonderful. I finished Genesis today, in 3 days… With no school demanding my time, I have enjoyed curling up in my chair in front of my wide open window and reading, for a long time… I never realized how refreshing it would be. On top of the reading, within the last week I’ve been praying more. I have a handful of friends that really need prayer, and so I pray. But with time set aside to read, I may pause and pray… I’ll sit in my room a couple hours (or, at least until someone calls me… lol family does that sometimes) and do that… Reading and praying… or I’ll just sit, in awe, as I am now…

Chris Tomlin really is an inspiring artist. His music is full of worship, prayers, and truths that I can relate to, or pray for myself as I sing the song.

Today I got to spend about eight hours with two babes. Well, one was a tattler. They are so captivating, so full of life… so dependent on me (or whom ever they are with) for everything. Lunch time was fun. Oh, and I got spit up upon for the first time… lol when I got home all I wanted was a shower. But even the barf, drooling, sticky fingers, dirty diapers, or whatever, their smile, their laugh, and their eyes makes it all seem like nothing. I can hardly imagine what it will be like to have some of my own. I’ll need a good dog first, though I think… He’ll help me out, like my little pup did yesterday. For now, I just enjoy my friends kids, when I can. It really is a treat…

I wish I could share what I’m feeling right now.

Draw near to Him, and He promises He will draw near to you.

~Hannah

It’s amazing, The bond between young children and animals. I’ve seen it before, but never quite like today. You know, how a young toddler will play with a big ol’ dog without being scared in the least. Giggling, pulling on his fur, tail, or ears. The dog may nuzzle the child, and is shockingly tender with him. I’ve seen it before, but never quite like I did today.

Today I was baby sitting two young boys for a friend from church. Henry, who is somewhere between two and three, I think, and Max, who I don’t believe is a year old yet. Now, I have watched these two a number of times before, as well as their three older sisters, but today they came over to my house because one of their sisters had to go to the orthodontist, just a few minutes from my house. So Mrs. de Leon left the boys with me. They are little darlings, and I love watching any of her kids. Today, however, Max decided that he did not want to stop crying. He cried and cried, and I tried everything to make him stop. I knew he was tired, because he fell asleep twice, but never stayed that way long.

When they first showed up, my little maltese Benji, who normally becomes a rampaging menace when visitors come to call (beware, he’ll lick you to death) stopped barking and rampaging when he was only half way down the stairs, and saw who was coming in. That was kinda weird. He stood their, on the steps for a little bit, until Mrs. de Leon had left, then he came to see the little visitors, and they seemed to be interested in him too. Amazingly, Benji (who is about the same size as the boys) was completely captivated by his new friends, and amazingly quiet. He didn’t jump on them, or get to close at first. He just watched.

As time passed, Henry began touring our home. (and little Benji fallowed behind us.) Henry liked Benji, and pet him nicely, while Benji was a good sport sat there, smelling him a little. But when Max started crying, Benji just stared at him for the longest time. At one point, I was trying to get Max to stop crying, and Benji jumped up beside me on the bed. Max stopped crying. He was as captivated by Benji as Benji was of him. (who can blame them? Neither has seen anything like the other before. [well, Max has probably seen dogs, but maybe not a fluffy white mop like Benji]) It was pretty cool. Benji stuck around me and the boys, and helped Max stop crying.

The only times he would stop crying was when Benji was next to him, and Max was playing with his fur. Benji was such a good sport. Normally he’ll yap at anyone pulling at his fur, but he let Max do what he wanted. It was so sweet to watch.

Tomorrow I will be watching them again, only this time at their home. So hopefully Max will not cry as much (he never has before). But tomorrow, Benji will not be there to help. ^_^

~Hannah

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