It's been ages since my last blog post, and I've been thinking lately that I really need to get better at this blogging thing. I'm a bad blogger. But I really felt like I needed something good to write about, you know? And boy, do I have a story...
So I got a text a few days ago from a very good friend of mine, whom I will call Olivia. I let said friend pick her own fictional name for non-fictional purposes. But I digress. Olivia's husband is deployed, and she needed a babysitter for her youngest child so that she could take the oldest one to Pre-K orientation last week.
Look, I've been around lots of kids in my lifetime. I have five nieces and a nephew. I've changed lots of diapers. I've kissed boo-boos. I've dried tears. But I run from the kids that scream in Wal-Mart. You know those Facebook rants you read by mothers who are so offended by people who stare at the scenes that they and their kids make in the store...where one of 'em wanted Fruit Roll-ups, mom said no, kid throws a fit, mom spanks/threatens/attempts to reason with kid, etc, etc, etc? Yeah, I don't mean to but I stare. And then I go the other way and pray that God will make me a bird so I can fly far, far, far away from here.
Olivia knows all of this about me.
Let it be known that I don't hate kids. For real. I don't.
But before I responded to her text, I had to really think this through. I went through worst-case scenarios in my head, but Olivia had assured me that she'd only be gone for an hour...hour and a half, tops. Plus, she had offered payment in Mexican food currency. She speaks my language.
What could possibly go wrong?
I responded to her text and told her I'd be over right after work the next day. She thanked me, then we talked about elephants, illegal drugs, and Totino's pizza rolls.
So I left work the next day and walked into Olivia's house ready for my adventure with little Emerson Yeezus. (I also let Olivia pick her son's fictional name. Her suggestions were Vlad, Boris, Emerson, Yeezus, and Lars. I originally agreed to Emerson, but Yeezus is just too original.) Olivia and Penelope (yup, she picked that too) left for Pre-K, and I watched Yeezus stare lovingly at Monsters University in hi-def. Cool. He's occupied. I looked at my watch. We were 30 seconds in, and no one was bleeding.
I sat down in the recliner but was quickly summoned to get back on my feet and push little Yeezus across the living room on his ride-on truck thing. Little dude is strong when pulling you by the fingers. I wondered if Fisher Price had started making weight benches for toddlers or if he's just serious about his vegetables. I've seen him put away some peas...I've also seen him put away some fish sticks.
After making several hunched-over laps across Olivia's living room, little Yeezus pulled a fast one--he went Fred Flintstone on me and made his own way into the kitchen. We played crazy funny peek-a-boo games around the island. Every time I'd say, "Boo!" he'd do that deep belly laugh that only toddlers do that make even the non-parents wish they'd stay this age forever. He also studied his reflection in the oven door for a while. I was having so much fun I'd lost track of time! We'd made it ten minutes at this point and everyone was still conscious and breathing.
The giant baby of a dog wanted outside and little Yeezus decided he did too. Don't worry, the backyard is fenced in. No runaway dogs or kids here.
The first time I ever met Big Baby Dog, he'd dropped a rubber ball at my feet. When I reached down to comply with the silent but understood request to throw it, Olivia had quickly stopped me. "It's your choice whether you throw that ball, but please know that if you throw it once you will have to throw it a hundred times."
Little Yeezus was barefoot and so was I. Cool. We were becoming one with nature. He walked out into the grass and was surveying the fence. I watched him and wondered if he approved of its sturdiness and purpose. He looked up at it as if he were standing at the base of the Sears Tower gazing up in awe at an architectural marvel. I like this kid.
Big Baby Dog dropped an orange rubber ball at my feet. Oh, what the hell, Yeezus is occupied dreaming up Lego cities and Penelope was probably still finding her backpack hook. I picked the ball up with my bare hand, forgetting that there was a ball picker-upper-thrower thing behind me on the patio. I threw it. Biggie retrieved it like his life depended on it. He dropped it at my feet again. Throw, retrieve, drop. Little Yeezus was still surveying the fence but had moved to another area a few feet away from the Sears Tower.
By this time, Big Drooling Baby Dog had completely covered the orange ball in saliva and I'm still throwing away. Oh well. Olivia has soap. I saw it by the kitchen sink. I think she buys the blue kind by the gallon at Sam's.
Yeezus had walked away from the fence to a particularly interesting area of grass. He squatted in true toddler fashion and was gently touching the blades of grass. Aww. Throw, retrieve, drop. Look at him, so serenely studying the domestic plant life. Throw, retrieve, drop. He reached down to touch something I couldn't see, probably a bug. Throw, retrieve, drop. How sweet! I left the ball where Big Drooler had dropped it, because I just needed to take a picture of this. The way little Yeezus was so still and so intrigued...it was precious. He was doing something, but I couldn't tell what.
I've seen this intent toddler-squatting move before, and it had usually resulted in a stinky diaper. Oh, please don't let him be making a dirty.
I pulled my phone from my pocket got it all ready to capture the shot. I walked a little closer across the grass, hoping I didn't distract Yeezus and ruin everything. Oh why didn't I have my DSLR on me? This is frame-worthy! It's beautiful! I almost pressed the shutter button...Yeezus looked up at me and started running toward the Little Tikes slide. Why's he running from me? I'll just get his attention and divert him back to the interesting grass. "Yeezus! Look!" I pointed at where he'd been so sweetly squatting just before he ruined my Nikon moment.
Then I see it.
Is that...? No, surely not. Is it...?
Yup. Little Yeezus wasn't squatting sweetly while innocently studying sticks or bugs. Nope. He'd been rubbing mud all over his arms. How did I not notice this? I put my phone back into my pocket and walked toward Yeezus to see if I could brush it off. Mud dries and becomes dirt, right?
I rubbed my hands on his arms. What is that smell?
Oh my God. OH. MY. GOD. Oh my God, that isn't mud. It's dog poop. Big Baby Dog had been the source of Yeezus's seemingly sweet, picture-perfect idleness. Just then, Yeezus hurled the turd that was still in his hand. It landed at the bottom of the Little Tikes slide and stuck there. Fresh turds stick.
I stood there in disbelief, wondering if he'd eaten any of it. I didn't see any on his face. Olivia did say to call her if I needed anything at all. But we're both still conscious and no one is bleeding.
I picked smelly Yeezus up from behind, with my arms wrapped around his waist. He tried desperately to push my arms away. Poop was now on my arms, too. Sharing is caring.
Since he couldn't push my arms away from his poop-covered little body, he performed the most clever of all useful tricks taught at Toddler Academy: he stuck his arms straight up in the air and went all limp-noodle. I nearly dropped the kid on the concrete patio. Oh my goodness. I WANT MY MOM!!!
He started to scream. Was he crying because he thought I was mad? I wasn't mad and I tried to tell him, but there is no reasoning with a two-year-old. Maybe he was crying because I tore him away from his beloved poop and his heart was broken.
I got him inside and he did the limp-noodle trick again, so I sat him down on the kitchen floor. Tile cleans easily. I ran to his room and got some baby wipes. Yeah, that was like trying to clean an oil spill with a Kleenex. Oh, but there's that blue soap! Little Yeezus was then held over the kitchen sink, screaming, while I cleaned him up as best I could. When the suds formed, he became all sweetly intrigued again. He got quiet. His eyes were still open and he was still breathing. We're okay.
I dried him off, cleaned myself up, and wondered whether or not I should even tell Olivia at all. She would probably never let me around her kids again. I'm the babysitter who lets kids fingerpaint themselves with dog poop. But what if he did eat it and he became violently sick later? She needed to know.
I told her. She laughed. She brought me Mexican. We're still friends.
Moral of the story? Quiet kids mean trouble is brewing. Also, pick friends who will not hate you when you let their kids play in poop.
