I learned this lesson long ago but sometimes I forget. I am not good with other people’s children.
When my kids were little, I would put them in the co-op nursery at church so I could enjoy a little spiritual peace. I really did go to church – not to an hour long visit to Starbucks. I swear. Every month or so, it was my turn to volunteer for childcare duty. On my first shift, one little darling threw a book at my face (wonder if he still has that deadeye aim.) The second month, a petulant little girl greeted me (and my pixie haircut) with, “You look like a boy.”
With such sparkling experience under my belt, I offered to corral the pint-sized performers for the Christmas pageant. This allowed me the perk of giving my son his casting role of choice – shepherd or angel. He picked the latter and who could blame him? He wanted to hang out with all the chicks. However, one girl looked at my son and instructed, “Boys are shepherds. Girls are angels.” “Really?” I retorted. “Ever hear of Michael the Archangel? There will be no gender stereotyping on my watch, kid. Where’s your mother?”
Not all is lost. I still take the kids’ pictures during vacation bible school. That I can handle. The students sit, while I glance at their nametags and say something snarky. Click-click, off they go. I love it when I know that they have an older brother or sister. I make them smile by saying, “Ya know, your brother James is a boogerhead.” It’s always a picture to treasure.
The common denominator in my childcare experience seems to be church activities. Hmmm.
That is until last week, when I had the “pleasure” of watching my two nephews. This agreement involved spending a few (long) days with five boys ages 3, 5, 6, 12 and 15.
What was I thinking?
I was thinking that I would have done anything to join my husband on an all-expenses paid business trip to San Diego instead. I was thinking that I really love my brother and sister-in-law. I was thinking, “Ahh, two more boys. Big deal.”
What I wasn’t thinking was that it would be a horror movie entitled, Attack of the Tiny Tasmanian Devils.
Now I must preface this with the fact that I’m not the best mother in the world, but I have three sons. I know the world of the boy.
However, my nephews are something else. They were in perpetual motion for four days. They. Never. Stopped. Moving. I figured if they had that much energy, my plan of action would be to run them down every single day.
One afternoon we went to the Dallas Arboretum. I flashed my membership card, and, before I could turn around, they were jumping in the fountain. They pillaged the Texas Frontier town, rolled down the big hill on the far side of the gardens a million times, climbed on the freakishly large water-spouting toad statues and soaked anyone who ventured within 100 yards of them.
Since they were already wet, we headed to the community swimming pool. Mr. 3-Year-Old wanted to go down the slide. I walked him halfway up the stairs, and, as I am climbing down to get to the end of the slide to catch him, I see a blur of shark swimsuit whiz by. Did I mention that he can’t swim? Into the water I dove. He was oblivious to his near death experience, and I now sport more gray hair than ever.
But, when all was said and done, I would probably watch them again. I don’t get to see them nearly enough. And now that I know what I’m in for, it wouldn’t be that bad.
Wait, what was that lesson again? Maybe I just need to start my endurance training now.
Linda Marie Ford is a columnist for DallasChild and the founder of It’s Good to be The Queen, an online forum for moms of boys.
