Saturday, March 22, 2008
My Babies are Babysitting
Two of my children are at my mercy during the day. (Cue the nasty witch cackle) Actually, Cherie goes to preschool in the morning three days out of the week, but after that . . .
Sometimes it feels as though I am at their mercy (More cackling this time at my expense). I bring this up to introduce to you their new favorite pastime. Babysitting. I guess they figure they'd go right to the source.
Cherie has a plethora of dolls from which to choose, but we are creatures of habit and everyone sticks with the baby doll we had the day (or hour) before. We pull out various lengths of Lincoln Logs and feed the babies first -- because orderliness is of utmost importance to Mark. We don't have enough baby bottles to go around and LL work wonderfully in a pinch. Thankfully, my children have wonderful imaginations.
Then we burp the babies. This is Mark's favorite part -- as you can imagine. And he plays the part as only a three year old boy could. He could rival most men with this particular talent of his. Is it so wrong for a mom to wish that one of her kids' talents would remain latent?
Just before nap time for our babies we sing songs. I believe I've mentioned my children's penchant for Five Fat Sausages. It's always included in our repertoire. Along with Jesus Loves Me and If Your Happy And You Know It. My favorite, however has to be Trinkle Trinkle Widow Tar.
You'll notice, dear reader, that we change no diapers. Thank goodness my children have not thought of that particular activity to add to our routine. And if they did, I am afraid I would have to decline. Between working in the church nursery for eight years, being a nanny for five years and changing my own children's diapers for six years, I think I've done my fair share.
I'm just sayin'.
All in all, it's a great way to pass the time in the company of my children. Pretty soon they'll be doin' their own thing(s) and Mommy will not be included in their plans. And I'll probably think back on these as some of the most precious memories a mother could have with her children.
Minus all the not-so-spontaneous eructations, of course.