Part-time Poppins

Tuesday the Thirteenth

Days woefully designated as "The Thirteenth" are usually preceded by "Friday." No one bothered to explain this to Tuesday the Thirteenth, however. I can't determine what started this unfortunate chain of events, but as a nanny of three children, I'm often only aware of a chain once many links are clicked together and I am hurriedly trying to find the beginning.

Zachary woke up feeling slightly under-the-weather. He felt warm and he had a mild cough. Justin was very high-energy. High energy in an exceptionally bright six-year-old can reveal itself in a number of different ways, but today's energy happened to be channeled into hyper-focusing on Zachary. With Zachary feeling sick, the last thing that he wanted was some brotherly chiding.

Catherine was easy, as always, but with the heat already climbing by nine a.m., she wasn't hungry, and fell asleep around ten, still having eaten very little. Zachary and Justin were engaging in brotherly teasing (repeating each other, denying access to toys, etc.) and Zachary's ability to maintain himself was slowly eroding. He looked over at me with the saddest expression on his face and I suggested a temporary separation while they worked things out. I remembered the feelings that used to well up inside of me when my younger brother and I feuded, and I knew that Zachary and Justin were experiencing the same thing.

Nudged by Numbers... It was Colleen who first pointed out the fact that it was, indeed, a Lucky Thirteen day that these incidents occurred on. Justin wanted to know his high score on his Nintendo game and Zachary wanted to know how many days it was until Halloween, as he was choosing a costume. Each question was equally important and I was held hostage by numbers! Colleen suggested a cooking activity to help redirect the boys. I was happy to give it a try.

"Hey, guys," I said. "Do you know what sounds like FUN?" Two heads popped up, almost in unison, like little prairie dogs. I giggled. "It begins with a Brown..."

"Brownies!" they yelled joyously, bounding into the kitchen. They were interested in the prospect of chocolate anything. Justin immediately pulled a chair to the counter.

"I start first, because I was here first. Zachary, you're second." Again, those numbers.

"Well," I offered, "let's use two bowls; then we'll have two firsts." Justin opened his mouth to object, as he was, indeed, the first one there. He was very aware of fairness and placement. I winked at him, though, and it had the most remarkable effect: a cease-fire with numbers. For the time being.

As I measured 1/2 cup of vegetable oil and 1/4 cup of water with an ironic smile, the boys excitedly ate two small servings of brownie powder--a special treat. Within moments, both of them were sporting the thickest, blackest mustaches known to man. Zachary's eyes were wide with excitement to the last bite, and Justin's chocolate grin filled the gap previously occupied by his right eye tooth. Justin's brownie enthusiasm quickly decreased...apparently correlating to the empty brownie bowl. Childhood mathematics.

Zachary, meanwhile, was still eager to help; ribbons of wet dough flew everywhere as he wildly stirred the batter.     "Oh, careful, Zachary!" I called out, louder than I intended. "Oh, watch out!" I continued, as a wide ribbon of batter went astray and snaked onto the hardwood with a resounding plop. Zachary's mouth was wide open with concentration as he helped me pour the brownie batter into the awaiting baking pan. His blue eyes were wide, wide open, and filled with light. And when Zachary's eyes are filled with light, it illuminates the entire room. Justin, meanwhile, reemerged at the kitchen counter, his chocolate craving not yet satisfied.

"No, Justin, don't eat that batter. Remember how we were either going to eat dry mix or have some wet mix before I added the eggs? It's not healthy to eat that batter becau--" before I could finish, one of Justin's fingers caught a glob of batter and swiftly descended into his mouth, emerging clean and devoid of the possible salmonella source. I shuddered as I explained what salmonella was, and what happened when one had salmonella. Justin shuddered and made an "eew!" expression with his face.

While the brownies baked for twenty-eight minutes, I attempted to make a quick lunch. When alphabet soup, yogurt, oranges, grapes and peanut butter and jelly all failed, I reluctantly resorted to heated-up pizza leftovers. The one condition for eating the brownies? Eating a healthy lunch. Zachary sampled some soup, Justin ate his yogurt, and pizza met their acquaintance five minutes before the brownie buzzer went off.

What Are the Odds? Ideally, being a nanny carries an equal amount of authority, but children being individual, independently thinking entities...that doesn't always happen. Multi-tasking like water balloon filling and feeding Catherine simultaneously proved as disastrous as it sounds: Catherine was sprayed by a runaway hose, screaming with surprise, while Justin, all repentance, tried to console her. I took Catherine inside to eat and shortly afterward, heard a loud "Slosh! Snap!" followed by Justin's unmistakably guilty voice.

"I didn't do it!" I glanced around the corner, afraid of what would meet my eyes. The screen on the brand-new screen door lay halfway out of its frame, glistening wet. Tell-tale water balloon entrails littered the linoleum. Hmmm. Recognizing the event as a fixable mistake, I told him that I knew he hadn't meant to break the door and that we'd fix it later. Justin had a camp to go to fairly shortly, and neither numbers nor misfortune would keep me from adhering to the schedule.

When we finally started my car to go to Justin's camp, I noticed that the "low fuel" light was lit on my instrumentation panel. Perfect. As my car lurched up their hill, I saw Justin's brow cloud in the rear-view mirror. "Why are you doing that to your car?" he asked. "Well, she's out of gas," I said, my fingers crossed. In the midst of misfortune, Justin extracted the one interesting portion of my statement. "How do you know your car's a she?"

I laughed.     "Well, do you think your truck is a he or a she?" I asked, as 
my car chugged up the hill.

"A he," Justin answered. "And what's your Honda? A he or a she?" Justin paused momentarily. "A she." "Well, there you go," I said. "And here we are at the gas station. See, you can tell, too. That's how I know my car's a girl. I mean, this doesn't look like a guy car, does it?" Justin shook his head.

As I went to pump my gas, I glanced over at the pump number. Thirteen. I stared my nemesis in the face; not the pump, but the time, the numbers and the limitations. But my "Tuesday the Thirteenth" was not as plagued as a Friday of the same number. I left that day with my happy thoughts: Zachary's zealous brownie assistance, and the glow in his face; Catherine's complete delight with her brothers' antics and Justin's ability to extract morsels of interest from an "everyday statement."

We made it to camp with two minutes to spare, and not a second more.