Little Max

I am now the nanny for an adorable five-year-old boy named Max. He has a slight lisp, the makings of a uni-brow, and a vivid imagination.

Yesterday, I played with him and his sister, Grace, for a few hours. We were paging through one of their family photo albums. In some of the pictures, Grace was two years old or so, which prompted Max to say "I wasn't alive yet." This is what ensued:

"I was still being made. God was making me in his workshop. He was stapling me together." His hands go up to his forehead in a stapling gesture.

Can you say adorable?

Today, he and I decorated and played with his new monster trucks. We also played with blocks, Hot Wheels, and read a few books.

Right about now, I'm so grateful that I grew up playing cars and Star Wars with my three younger brothers.

A Billy Sook

Shel Silverstein is my new hero. He wrote a book entitled Runny Babbit: A Billy Sook. I first discovered it in the children's section of Borders and fell in love with its playful and incredibly witty word games:

Kugs and Hisses

Runny said, "I'm lonesome,
I feel so glad and soomy.
I need some kugs and hisses--
Now, who's gonna give 'em to me?"
"I will," said Polly Dorkupine,
"'Cause you're cute as a rug in a bug."
Said Runny, "Well, I'll kake the tiss,
But never hind the mug."

Mini-golf and inquisitive children

Listening to the radio the other day, I learned a most useful fact: going mini-golfing on a first date is nothing short of half-witted. The woman who called in "couldn't think of a worse choice for a first date." Her reason? She's terrible at it. Lame. I, for one, think mini-golf would be much more enjoyable than sitting at a table and eating for a few hours. More out-of-the-ordinary, too.

On another note, adorable six-year-old Mari, the girl I babysit, tugged at my neckline and peered down my shirt today, only to exclaim, "What IS that pink thing???" "That pink thing" was my bra, but I was hardly about to tell her that with her two brothers in earshot. So I clutched my neckline back and shrugged my shoulders. She's a knucklehead, that one.

Hand in hand

My kiddos!

I visited my 1st and 2nd graders yesterday... well, now many of them are 3rd graders, but that's beside the point. I walked into the room, and thirteen adorable heads turned around to see who was there. A few of their jaws dropped, and I heard someone say "she looks so different". Then they left their chairs and swarmed around me, asking if I remembered their names. Fortunately, I remembered most of them, except poor little Maddie. The thing is, I know her name, but in that moment I completely blanked. I felt so bad.

And then... Abel started pushing his way through the sea of kids, saying "watch out, coming through" and when he reached me he threw his chubby arms around my waist and hung on me--yes, hung--for a good thirty seconds. He hasn't changed a bit, I thought, as I struggled to keep from keeling over.

In those moments, I felt so content. I don't think I stopped smiling the entire time. After I'd patted enough backs, recited enough names, and received enough hugs, Tiffany suggested that I read to them for a while. That was always my responsibility last summer: I love to read and inflect my voice dramatically to keep the kids entertained. I joyfully agreed and perched on the stool at the front of the classroom. She handed me a book called Hatchet, and I read two chapters from it. A rather boring book, but the kids seemed to like it well enough. Only Abel and Cameron--and occasionally Cienna and Maddie--whispered to each other off and on, but otherwise everyone listened. Sooo different from last year. Last year, I swear they all had ADHD. :)

I left after only a half-hour, but I was thoroughly rejuvenated and ready to tackle this grad school/elementary ed thing I'm currently pursuing.

I think I want kids right this very second... well, not quite

The little boy bobbed and flailed his way through the warm water of the pool, enjoying the buoyancy his lifejacket afforded him. Periodically, he would call out to his dad, a dark-complexioned forty-something reclining a few chairs away from me.

"Daddy, watch this!"
"Daddy, come into the pool with me!"
"Daddy, I'm cold!"

He swam to the edge of the pool, and his pudgy hands clung to the concrete sides.

"Daddy, I love you so, so much." There was an unabashed honesty in this simple expression of love that was a little astounding to hear from one so young (he couldn't have been more than four years old).

"I love you so, so much, buddy."

"Daddy, I love you so, so, SO much!" His voice escalated in intensity, and he smiled at his dad.

"And I love YOU so, so, SO much," his dad replied.

"I like it when you take care of me." At this statement, the little boy seemed a bit more hesitant.

His dad chuckled, clearly amused but touched by his son's declarations. "Well, I love taking care of you, buddy."

At this point, I couldn't suppress the wide grin that had been inching its way onto my face. This was just too darn cute.

Seconds later, the little boy pushed away from the wall and resumed splashing and playing in the water.