babysitting

the world of five-year-old boys is so far from mine. not only is their speech all but unintelligible, when i do discover their meaning, it usually pertains to one of three things: food, toys, or poop. i love it. visiting the mcalvey's apartment is like stepping backward into my own childhood, rediscovering the energy, innocence, and curiosity i felt in 1996.

this afternoon, i allowed myself to be cheated at cards and to be swindled into distributing the contents of a box of nilla wafers even though i suspected they needed to remain closed and out of reach. i had socks stuffed in my mouth, balls kicked at my head, and even a firetruck came within inches of my face. i ate crackers and apple slices and drank out of a cup so small it felt like taking communion, but with red fruitlike juice instead of wine.

looking at the world through isaac's eyes, i rediscovered the ludicrousness of elephants and the ingenuity of a giraffe's neck. i was taken back to a world where boys could justify their inability to understand girls with one world: cooties. and i looked into a world so far removed from pain and heartbreak that death and bombs are matters treated like a game.

also, standing and bouncing a baby up and down for an hour really does turn into an aerobic exercise after a while. there need to be more kids on college campuses, like how therapy dogs visit the pediatric oncology wing at hospitals. not that i'm comparing kids to puppies... but you know what i mean.