Three babies and a basket case.

I have decided I've had enough with this "Myehh, I wanna write things but everything I say is stupid!" crap that goes through my head every day. The whole point is just to write things. Who cares if it's any good? It's better than not writing anything, which is the strategy I used a lot of this past year, and look where that got me. Nowheresville, Ohio. That's where.

So that's the new decision. Here is what happened to me today. (I've decided this story is best depicted partially though illustration).

Twice a week I babysit this collection of objects from 7am til about 5 in the evening.

 

Today's situation, however, was a little bit worse than usual. (Not that the situation is usually bad at all - I should clarify before I veer off on this rant that I love this family. They're sweet). The enjoyable teens were off at band camp and a random aunt had dropped off her insane puppy for the week. So essentially I was watching three toddlers by myself. Not particularly fun, but doable. Or so I believed. The day started out okay.

The spunky 3-year-old ripped off her clothes and demanded that I set up the sprinkler, which I did while carrying a dripping baby who refused to be set down for even a second without screeching unpleasantly. I thought to myself, "Okay, well this is going to be a long day. But I can do this."

After about two minutes in the sprinkler, Spunky announced that she was hungry and darted into the house. So, sighing heavily, I followed her inside, still carrying the baby. By the time I got into the kitchen (which was really only about twenty seconds later), she had already helped herself to a popsicle and was contentedly sucking on it. I thought about starting an argument over it, but all I did was ask, "So are you done in the sprinkler, then?" She nodded. So I set the screaming baby down, told Spunky to stay inside and leave all the doors shut, and went to turn off the hose.
This was my fatal mistake.
No sooner had I made it down the back steps to the yard than Spunky slid the doors open and screamed "MEGAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" And the most hyper little white blur I'd ever seen sped past her, down the steps, and straight under the neighbors' car.

Spunky helpfully called, "Megan, the dog got out!" to which I replied "GO INSIDE AND SHUT THE DOOR!" (Here, you have to understand that I'm usually not a screamer. I can be very patient when I need to, and I tend to skip over outright anger altogether and just take everything personally. But at this point, my thoughts consisted mostly of repressed obscenities). The dog, who I'd actually thought was cute and lovable yesterday, turned out to be a big huge jerk. It thought I was playing with it. It would jump out from behind things and flash past me, and then stop just out of reach and look really happy with itself. And I would look at it and say pleasantly, "I'm not playing games. I will kill you."

As I was busy chasing the giant cotton ball around the yard, I didn't immediately notice the sound of the door sliding open again. It wasn't until I heard Spunky yell, "Megan! The baby got out!" that I stopped in my tracks and turned my back on the dog. At that point, the thing could have been abducted by a UFO and sucked into outer space and I wouldn't have cared; I didn't even bother to keep an eye on where it was going. I charged up the stairs and caught the baby just as it was contemplating throwing itself down them. For whatever reason.

I snatched the baby from its imminent serious injury and carried it inside. (It started crying, of course). I grabbed Spunky by the wrist and pulled her inside, too. And I said "LISTEN. If you open this door again, the baby is going to fall down the stairs and die, and you are going to be in BIG TROUBLE." And Spunky said "Kay!" and slid the door shut in my face.
I turned around and descended the stairs with much less vigor than I had climbed them.
And this is what the stupid jerk dog was doing.