I took an interest in helping to "care for" my younger siblings at a very early age, which often resulted in their getting upset and my getting in trouble. I cut Kendall's hair when she was two, raced to pick up David from the Church nursery after Sunday School, and carried Becca around on my nine-year-old right hip from her birth on. Most of the time I got it wrong with them, but my instincts were a shadow of something good: I wanted to be a mother. I got to practice the most with Becca since I was 9 years older than her and mastered the skills of diaper changing, highchair cleaning, rocking chair reading, and doing awful things to her hair in the name of cuteness. Like I said, most of the time I got it wrong.
By the time I was 10 I had joined a 4H group. You got to pick various projects and then present them at the county fair each summer. Most of my church friends did projects with their cows and sheep since they lived on farms. Childcare was my immediate first choice. I did all kinds of little projects with a three year old from our church to practice my childcare skills. I rememember making shadow boxes with him, sock puppets, taking him on nature walks, and observing his progress like a child-psychologist, making notes for my little 4H project.
When I was 12 I started getting babysitting offers from family friends and neighbors, but my smart mother insisted that before I could start babysitting I had to be certified in first aid and CPR and also complete a day-clinic in childcare. I spent a long Saturday with two other adolescent girls and their grinning brother whose shirt read: "Kiss me, I might be a Prince." You just remember some things.
So when I completed all of mom's pre-requisites I was hired for my first babysitting job for a local family with two girls age 6 and 4. I had a "Kid Kit" for those of you who know the Babysitter's Club and since I was really still an older "kid" it was easy to play with my charges. They were a "type A" family so the job was simple: the house was always clean, everyone had a schedule, and the girls went to bed by 7:30 p.m. I do remember though, the girls being scared one night and my reassuring them with the 23rd Psalm. They had never heard of Jesus, so I took the opportunity and shared the Gospel with them. The next time I babysat them, their mother explained that they were Jewish and I was not to confuse the girls anymore with my religion. Apparently they had been peppering her with questions about Jesus. I honored their mother's wishes, but sometimes wonder how God used those seeds.
By this time I was had many regular clients, mostly up and down our little street in Illinois. When we moved to Virginia and I started high school I very occasionally babysat for one or two families from school, but when we moved to Michigan babysitting became much more lucrative--and fun.
My favorite client was a family of 4 boys, the oldest age 5. They were somewhat on a schedule in terms of naps and bedtime, but other than that, life was total, dangerous, hilarious chaos. By the time I got there around 5 p.m. the boys had been watching Power Rangers for at least 3 hours and the 3 and 5 year olds were trying out all their moves while the 2 year old was usually behind the couch or under the coffee table asking for juice and the 2 month-old needed a diaper change and a fresh bottle. I loved this job because it was never boring: the time flew by. It was the perfect fit for my ADD mind--I had to multi-task just to save us from a trip to the ER. I was pretty good at it, and the two babies had pretty easy-going personalities. That's what I like about boys--as long as you can keep up with them and protect them physically from themselves, you're largely good to go. Girls get more complex more quickly so things aren't quite so cut-and-dry. Usually with the boys we would come up with an imaginary game (not Power Rangers) that involved a fort and lots of hide-and-seek so that they were easily kept in one place (the fort) and focused enough to where they weren't off trying to kill each other.
The one job that I struggled with involved a six year old girl who wanted me to read Barbie to her. If there's one thing I insist on it's high-quality children's literature, not books about Matel toys or TV characters. I was compliant, but somehow couldn't manage to read the book without using a false fru-fru voice for Barbie. This did not go over well and I wasn't asked back in the future, but that was okay by me. Looking back I'm sure I could've handled it better, but if faced with the same situation today, I honestly doubt that I would.
I had lots and lots more anecdotes, but Providentially erased them. Sometime I'll talk about the crazy camp adventures involving 30 junior high kids, 16 canoes, and a cascade of teflon plates floating down the Wisconsin Flambeau. Another time I'll tell you about the school bus I drove bearing singing 3rd graders in uniform all over Nassau. Or my precious students in Grand Rapids, MI who sang hymns every morning and taught me more than all of the above combined.
I've just been thinking back on these many child-caring encounters as I prepare for rearing one of my own. I'm sure each adventure will contribute to my daily attempts, and I'm sure one day soon I'll have a thousand more to tell.
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