Edubabble and other Blither

Tomorrow I'm going to baby-sit my niece, she who narrowly missed having an extra finger. I haven't babysat anyone since... well, not that long ago, really. (I've watched my niece in Rust Belt Town on days off from school.) Before that, though, it had probably been during the Reagan administration. I did a decent job. Most people asked me back, and I was glad, as babysitting was usually a good gig. I was introduced to lots of things from babysitting: Pink Floyd, Jackie Collins, Theodore Dreiser.

My dad worked shifts when I was a kid, and my mom worked evenings at a fabric store, so we often had babysitters. One was named Lori. She was slender, blonde, quiet, pretty. We liked when Lori babysat because sometimes her boyfriend Ron came over, and we got to see a show. No, Lori never let him come in, but she sat in his car parked on the curb right below our bedrooms. Lori and her boyfriend seemed to have a dramatic relationship-- what we saw wasn't heavy petting, it was a soap opera. My sister and I and a couple of neighborhood friends knelt on my sister's bed, as quiet as we could possibly be. We did our best to allow only our eyes to surface above the windowsill. We were little periscopes, searching for secrets of adolescence.

We were so clever! One time tears ran down Lori's face; she was a good crier. No crumpling of the features like a hungry newborn, no sounds. Just tears meandering down her questioning face and an occasional head shake. Ron was more agitated-- his hands and arms moved like a lawyer's, trying to make an important point there in his Duster. We clever ones on the second floor sensed the weight of the moment, knew Ron was breaking Lori's heart, knew he had to be punished, shamed, embarrassed. When the time was right, we stood on the bed, faces pressed on the screen, and sang at the top of our top-forty lungs: You're a heart-breaker, dream-maker, love-taker, dontcha mess around me! (Repeat chorus.) Ron looked up, confused and incredulous. He left soon after. I think Lori ended up pregnant within a year or so.

Sometimes my mom's friend Kathy watched us, and we loved that. She lived right up the street, and her daughter was one of my good friends. Kathy was a good cook. I know that now, but one time I wasn't so sure. She had made ham and bean soup, not exactly a kid favorite. My sister and I and Kathy's two daughters, one a small child of 3 or 4, sat around the formica dinette table staring at our meals, waiting for them to turn into Kraft macaroni and cheese or Happy Meals. No luck. We were plucky, though, and made the best of the situation by having a little fun. The part of meal we did like was the grape Kool-Aid, so, optimists that we were, we toasted the meal with our drinks. Time and time again our plastic cups met above the center of the table with a hearty, satisfying crash. Time and time again we sang, "Cheers!" with as much exurberance as you could find anywhere, even an Irish pub. Then the tide turned. Kathy's younger daughter, the baby, dropped her glass. Right into her soup. She didn't have to eat it, yet we still did. The injustice of the whole situation bore down heavily on our mirth. Silently we attempted a few bites of the gruel.

Tripper and I are childless by choice, a puzzling state of affairs to many people. No, we like kids. Really. Yes, I realize you felt the same way and can't imagine life without your kids now. Well, when I'm old with no one to check up on me I'll just stick my head in the oven. Sheesh. Just because we haven't had any contraceptive malfunctions doesn't mean we're communists. We speak pleasantly to other people's children. We buy them presents. We hand out candy on Halloween. What we don't do is chase them around Wal-Mart or spend 15 hours a week at the Little League field or pick up the same toy 75 times a day.

People have ideas for us, some pretty strange ones. My missionary aunt is going to pray me into an unwanted pregnancy. My mother, upon hearing my refrain of We don't want kids, has blurted out, "Well, Chrissy, NO one WANTS kids." Resounding praise for parenthood, indeed.

Make no mistake, though, we like kids. We've told our friends and family many times that we'd be glad to help them out by watching their kids. We haven't really had any takers, though. It seems that in our circles baby-sitters are taboo. Leaving your kids to go anywhere you might have a good time is taboo, too. I happened to mention this while visiting my mother one day. She's a master of matter-of-fact condescension. She didn't even look up from the lettuce she was tearing for salad, but I could see the delight on her face. Aha! She was going to be able to rub my nose in my own childlessness! "That's because you don't have any kids. I wouldn't have left you girls with anyone who didn't have kids."

"You left us with 15 year olds." I, too, can be matter-of-fact. She didn't have a counterpoint. Sometimes silence is melodious. Another good reason for not having kids-- being a parent compromises your ability to recall facts.

Here I come, Baby Niece! Please forgive your parents for allowing someone with no children of her own to watch you sleep for couple of hours. Everyone makes mistakes. They're doing the best they can.