Dad babysat tonight. Perhaps that isn’t the politically correct way to characterize it. Dad was at home with his children tonight, completely responsible for their entertainment, and worse, their bedtime.
I will first say that I was grateful to him, as his schedule does not provide this luxury too often. It took me awhile to get where I could enjoy spending an evening out by myself, but we are finally there. At last, everyone seems to look forward to my departure.
Second, I will say that I was surprised and thrilled when I got home after 11 p.m. and found the youngsters in bed and asleep. I believe it was a first. They must have been tired. My kids can match any sitter for the night-watch detail. There is nothing quite as deflating as finding two happy little faces peering over the banister, after I have stayed out late with my women friends, talking, drinking wine and relaxing. It means that I didn’t miss much.
When Dad stays home, I save the price of a sitter, but I pay the price in chaos. I begin to tally the bill immediately upon returning home, flipping on the kitchen light to survey the damage. Dear ol’ Dad never gives in to the temptation of television. He prefers to find something that everyone can participate in. The resulting mayhem can be startling. One night it was a complete rearrangement of all the furniture to create a lengthy gymnastic arena. Another night they took every piece of clothing out of his and their closets and dressed him up in hilarious costumes.
Yet another time, most of our towels and much of the bathroom was damp after some kind of water play. I never demanded details. Tonight, for entertainment, my husband let the kids help him make a lemon meringue pie. The adorably sad result sits proudly in the refrigerator. I am later instructed by Dad that it is to be a surprise for me in the morning.
No matter. My tour of the kitchen indicates that it has clearly been a multimedia event, with patient Daddy letting them help at every step. Dad gets big points when I find the pots, bowls, spoons, whisks, spatulas and mixer attachments actually soaking in the sink. My foot does, however, stick soundly to several spots on the floor just near the stove. I suspect much tasting and spilling took place. I chose not to check the ceiling for egg whites.
I move on to the family room and find sticky little bowls and utensils, licked nearly clean. I give thanks that the furniture has remained in its regular spot. Upstairs, both children’s beds are littered with books, crayons, paper, stickers, stamps, dolls, games and clothes. Bedtime was clearly the second act of a terrific evening of children’s theater.
I am optimistic that their toothbrushes are wet (although they may have used them to wash the teddy bear’s ears for all I know). Dad, or “Mr. Yes” as I like to call him, (his children have never heard him say “no”) has given them a night of sustained indulgence. As I get busy tidying up, I can’t help but smile.
I had a lovely evening out, but I’m not at all sure I had more fun than they did.
Jean Gillette is a freelance writer and excellent scullery maid. Contact her at [email protected].
