Babysitting blonde
I don't have any kids. Which is probably a good thing. But this past weekend, while venturing throughout the hills of Amish country, my 3-year-old niece was Rudolph's snack… and yes, it was all my fault.
Now before you freak out, she was fine. There was no blood, only tears. Oh, and a few missing strands of hair.
Each year, the women in my family get together to take the Christmas Cookie Tour of Inns. We load up the cars and spend the afternoon gazing at the elaborately decorated B&B's, munching on cookies the entire journey.
As we approached my favorite stop on the tour (the name of the inn shall remain anonymous, to protect the innocent), we noticed a goat dressed as a reindeer in the front yard. Thinking it was a lawn ornament, an entire SUV full of excited exclamations could be heard at the small hint of an ear wiggle. We city slickers are apparently amazed by farm animals.
Naturally, I bounded from the car, excited at the prospect of snapping a photo with the goat. When did I turn into such an obnoxious tourist? All I need now is a fanny pack and a Hawaiian shirt.
I must imagine farm animals as domesticated pets, just like my Pekingese, because I got right up in that thing's business, feeding it with my exposed fingers and talking only the best in baby talk. (Thanks for the sympathy, but I'm embarrassed enough for myself.)
My 3-year-old niece cautiously approached the situation. I coaxed her into coming closer, positioning her right next to the animal.
"Put your arm around it!" I laughed. "Like it's The Peke!" (Remember, The Peke is my 20-pound dog.) I turned my back for a second and walked away, hoping to get enough distance between the duo and I for the perfect Kodak moment.
This is when I heard it. That blood-curdling scream. The sobs of a 3-year-old caught between the jaws of a wild animal. (What? You've really never had this happen to YOUR child?)
I turned around (and don't judge me here), snapped a quick photo, and quickly pulled her away. I inspected her – no blood. Ear still intact. I look at the goat – It seems to be laughing at me, masticating on the poor thing's beautiful blonde locks.
The child was still screaming. I looked around for help. Nobody. Um. What do I do?
Just then, the innkeeper came running from inside the inn.
"Is everything OK?" the innkeeper worriedly asked.
Not being one to come up with convincing stories on the fly, I stammered, "Oh everyone is just fiiiiiine. The goat just wanted a little… nibble!"
Meanwhile, I was holding my niece behind my legs, trying to shield her from view and possibly pretend like she didn't exist – and that everything was, in fact, just fine.
After a wary gaze, the innkeeper retreated back to her quarters (I'm sure she was worried about a law suit) and my sister came running down the stone drive, asking if everything was all right. Trying to keep my composure, as well as my cool aunt status, I simply laughed and said, "Oh, the goat got a little bit of hair. Must have thought it was straw! She's just scared. BUT LOOK! I GOT A GREAT PHOTO!"
The trick seemed to work. Everyone brushed it off as a mere hiccup in the day's events. Then the 3-year-old met Santa. He always seems to ruin everything.
Sitting on Santa's lap in the Millersburg Comfort Suites, the child babbled comfortably about what she wanted for Christmas and how she would leave Santa cookies and milk. Santa explained that chocolate chip was his favorite, but she would also have to leave something for the reindeer.
Uh. Oh. Does anyone else see where this is going?
"He bit me," she said.
"He did what?" Santa asked.
"Reindeer are bad! HE BIT ME!" she yelled.
Busted.
My only response, as my sister's eyes narrowed and my Nana just looked horrified, was, "But the photo was great!"
Needless to say, I won't be babysitting anytime soon. But you live and learn, right? As a girl who still lives with her parents and is still trying to figure herself out, I'm glad I don't have the added responsibility of a child. I just couldn't handle it. The young mothers amaze me. Actually, young people in general amaze me. The ones who can start a family early and keep these little beings alive, while maintaining a home, holding down jobs, and taking care of things like remembering to take the metal spoon out of the bowl BEFORE it goes into the microwave. I practically burn the house down now, and that's without the assistance of tiny, curious minds.
Someday I'll be ready for marriage and someday, I'll be ready for kids. But until that day comes, I'll just have to ready myself. Hopefully my sisters have more children (since my niece is done with me) that I can practice on… with their parental supervision of course.
Check out the photo of my niece and the goat. (Click the arrow above my headshot to view the next slide) I told you it was good!
*No harm to the goat or my 3-year-old niece actually occurred during the making of this blog. I assure you, she is perfectly OK.