Babysitting and the protagonists’ questionable taste in music
November 3, 2009
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Two of the nephews were dropped off at our place last weekend. One is nearing 3, the other is about 6 months. Both are ridonculously cute.
Being the good aunties we are, they were entertained, fed, watered, and sleeping by the time we got them back to mum and dad several hours later. (Although the elder, having been allowed to play with his dump truck in a pile of mud in our front yard, was substantially dirtier – and he had experienced significant emotional trauma due to an incident involving an unguarded piece of peanut butter toast and a yellow dog and a sudden and startling absence of said toast. The rage of a de-toasted-almost-three-year-old is something to behold. The younger survived unscathed despite having been subjected to a number of salivary facial anointments by the canine crew. *shrugs* It’s good for the immune system.)
The elder was fighting sleep (“No nap, Aunt K…WAKE UP…NO nap”) on the car ride home so we popped one of his mum’s CDs in the disk player: a Sesame Street compilation. The kid was out like a light before you could say “Suuuuuuuuunny days”.
We smiled and patted ourselves on the backs for being the BEST AUNTS EVAR. And left the CD running. And then turned up the volume a notch. Then a little more. Before long we were belting out “Rubber Duckie
“, “‘C’ is for Cookie
” and “Doin’ the Pigeon
” and grinning like a couple of idiots (thank maude kids can sleep through anything, including tone-deafness). There’s something about hanging out with little ones that gives you free reign to unabashedly enjoy some of the fun stuff from your own childhood. I’m grateful for having that in our lives, despite the spectacular failure of Project Baby.
I came this close to asking if I could borrow the CD.