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Summer is winding down, and I’m happy to report that our little corner of the Pacific Northwest has only seen a handful of days with temperatures above 90 degrees Fahrenheit. As someone with a sun sensitivity (I break out in hives if I spend too much time in the sun), August has long been my least favorite month. In fact, in my mind, the only good thing about August is that it’s nearly September.
This particular August brought lots of babysitting. A friend’s grandchildren have needed tending because their mom is on a military deployment (thank you for your service), their dad works a grueling, unpredictable night shift at a hospital, and “Nana” (my friend of 40 years) runs a custom baking business that keeps her and her husband busy most weekends. If you’ve ever tried to artfully decorate a triple-tiered wedding cake while two toddlers are running underfoot demanding snacks, toys or cuddles, you know it’s an impossible task.
The children, two girls ages 1 and 3, are adorable and fun, but they have, um, a relentless energy that my 60-something constitution finds challenging. Their favorite game is “Chase Us!” In case you can’t figure out the game based on its name, it’s pretty simple: I pretend to chase the girls while they run in circles screaming. I’m sure the neighbors love it.
It’s been a while since I fed a toddler, and I’d forgotten—or perhaps blocked out—how picky kids can be. My last fussy eater is a niece who’s now 24. When we took her to Disneyland as a 3-year-old, we packed a Costco-sized box of Wheat Thins because that was the most portable of the four things the kid would eat at the time. At every meal, the rest of the family would order off the menu while the niece waited for us to produce yet another Ziploc baggie filled with crackers. We do have a picture of her at a Disney restaurant holding a strawberry, but that was as close as she came to eating anything with an actual vitamin in it.
So, I shouldn’t have been too surprised when the girls I was babysitting came with a succinct list of foods they would consume. The 1-year-old drank milk, but it had to be oat milk and it had to be heated in the microwave for 30 seconds. Any longer and it would be too warm; any less and it was too cold. Thirty seconds, apparently, hit the Goldilocks sweet spot. The baby’s older sister liked orange juice, but it had to be “Papa’s special juice,” which was just pulp-free orange juice stored in a pitcher with a blue lid. Anything that wasn’t poured from the blue-lidded pitcher was icky and a no-go.
The toddler-approved solid foods also came with strict conditions. They’d eat mac and cheese, but only the boxed kind, and it must be served in a pink bowl with a pink plastic spoon. I tried a green bowl with the 1-year-old, and the entire bowl mysteriously fell (or was it pushed?) off the baby’s high-chair tray.
Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets were fine after they’d cooled to room temp, but the girls would only eat the heads (the bodies and tails of the decapitated dinos were unceremoniously cast aside). Sweet potatoes passed the test, but only if Nana had made them. And, lastly, packets of strawberry Yoggies made the cut. However, these little yogurt-covered balls with a bit of fruit at the center must be served in a pink snack cup. I don’t typically adhere to rigid gender roles, but if the only way to get the girls to eat was out of pink bowls with pink utensils, I’m onboard.
My most recent babysitting gig with the girls was overnight. That meant baths, which translated into a competition of “How wet can we get the babysitter!” And then there was the coaxing and cajoling to get them into their beds. The older girl wanted to sleep in one of her school dresses (pink of course). I caved on that. (If it’ll get you into bed, you can wear whatever you want, Princess.)
Once they were both asleep, I cleaned the kitchen and did a load of laundry. I was in bed by midnight, which allowed me to catch a few hours of sleep before the little one woke up for her 3 a.m. bottle. Even though I was half-asleep, the girls had trained me well. I was ready.
Okay… oat milk… pink baby bottle… 30 seconds in the microwave...
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