Children are Gifts from Above

I have been spending time with a kids a lot lately.  Now that’s a heck of a way to begin a story.  I have been nannying and au pairing (sounds like a tasty French dish) and teaching English and piano.  I have met kids of many nationalities, and I keep being reminded of many things: it’s so fun to see the crazy things kids come up with!  It’s so inspiring to be around youth!  It’s 6:00am, why can’t you go back to sleep like a normal person!

I have various gems of “I can’t believe that happened”, which could be a good “Nanny Diaries II”, if it weren’t so unbelievably commonplace, and eye-rollingly predictable.  Oh, wait.  That should be the other way around…

In the Netherlands I decided I would let the two small children lock themselves in the bathroom for 45 minutes, because at least they were shrieking with laughter.  Note: anything above a giggle behind closed doors is always waiting for disaster.  No, I’m not implying that children should be seen and not heard.  Or am I?  They brought many things into the bathroom, like bread, Gummi Bears and orange juice.  They soaked many of the aforementioned items in water (I’m hoping from the sink).  Then, in a moment of brilliance, they turned the sink on as far as it would go.  Kids are so full of curiosity.  If only it could be used for more useful endeavors.  They found it funny, until it apparently overflowed, and water started pouring out of the small crack under the door.  The laughter turned into shrieks of panic, as they chanted over and over, “We don’t know which way is ‘off’!  Which way is ‘off’?”  I calmly suggested that one might attempt unlocking the door, but unfortunately that was not a possibility.  Their father came running downstairs and asked a lot less calmly that they open the door.  When they managed to open it, their father and I had a view of two small children, holding each other, standing on a stool (having gone for higher ground), as water, which had risen to the height of a small flood, poured out into the living room and kitchen, carrying with it soaked pieces of bread and water-logged Gummi Bears.

Sometimes, I learned things from them.  Once, a small boy drew a picture for me.  “This is a picture of you,” he said in his cute little British accent, “with hundreds of RUBBERS.”  I looked at the picture.  I knew it was a girl because she had long hair.  I knew they were condoms, because there were hundreds of small circles at the bottom of the picture.  Well, in England, they must start sex ed early.  I think it’s a bit early to learn about condoms if you still need help tying your shoes.  Oh, go on, call me a Puritan!  I waited, not wanting to say anything about the condoms and get hauled away immediately by the funny British “bobbies”.  But he plowed right on.  He jumped out of his seat and composed an impromptu song that included the lyrics, “You must always use your rubbers, you must always use your rubbers!”  I couldn’t argue with that.  It was only when he grabbed an eraser and said he was going to “rub one out” that I remembered from some dark cavern of my memory that British people call erasers “rubbers”.

Today, as I sat in the kitchen, working on an English lesson with a young girl, she decided that we should write a song together in English.  The song rhymed the words “today”, “Saturday”, and “today” over and over, and basically consisted of us taking turns shouting out lines like, “The dog and the cat are dancing in the swimming pool today!”  “I like to drink coffee, and the cat is very happy in my house today!”  It’s times like these that make me reminisce about being a child, and simultaneously hope that no one could hear this cacophony of ridiculousness, surrounding us and echoing through the halls.  And there you have it: that painful tension that comes from wanting to show everyone your children and immediately wanting to not be associated with your children.