After Caleb gets off the bus from school we cut across the yard chit chatting about the weather, and step inside the house. He and I have an afternoon routine. He quickly sheds his shoes once inside, as he peers over at the kitchen table where there’s a snack I’ve prepared for him. But before he can grab a bite, I flip him around, and say “Gimme hugs.” to which he quickly responds. Maybe he’s alright with it, maybe he’s trying to get his snack out of it. Either way is fine by me.
I sit across from him while he eats his snack eager to hear about his day, and luckily for me he’s usually up for chatting. Our conversations go a little like this…
- Caleb: Where’s Ryder?
- Me: At school
- Caleb: Where’s mommy?
- Me: She’s working
- Caleb: Where’s daddy?
- Me: He’s working too
- Caleb: Playing soccer?
- Me: Yep
- Caleb: Where’s Brandon?
- Me: He’s at work
- Caleb: Where’s Brandon’s daddy?
- Me: Probably working too
- Caleb: Where’s Bingley?
- Me: He’s sleeping in his bed
- Caleb: Where are you?
- Me: I’m at work!
- Caleb: *Eyes wide, then giggles* No you’re not! You’re at home!
That boy, he’s right. I’m right at home.
After he finishes his snack, and we’ve decided that everyone is where they usually are in the afternoons we determine if it’s any sort of decent weather. And if it is we head outside to play.
- Caleb: Play soccer with me?
- Me: Always
I stand by the gate, while he dribbles the ball. And I can tell you I’m so embarassed to play goalie with him, because this kid is good. Nearly never misses a shot. Once he’s bored of me trying he yells out “Get me!” and I come after him so we can dribble the soccer ball back and forth through the grass.
It’s a pretty sweet gig yeah? Being a Nanny.
Today I sat on the playroom floor, and I started reading the pout pout fish to Ryder, and Grant. He’s a pout pout fish with a pout pout face, and he spreads the dreary wearies all over the place. It’s one of those repetitive books, with the same lines every other page to teach kids recognition. So this pout pout fish, every other page he goes Blub.. Bluub.. Bluuuuuub. And you better believe I exaggerate those Blubs. Giving out belly tickles to Ryder, then Grant, then Ryder again. And they eat it up those boys.
Mr. Fish says to clam I’m a pout pout fish with a pout pout face, and I spread the dreary wearies all over the place. Then their sweet little faces get real expectant because they know what’s coming. Belly tickles with every Blub.. Bluuub.. Bluuuuuub.
Sillies, and tickles, and smiles, and giggles. Playgrounds, and swings, and soccer, and wriggles. Who would have known all those things make me feel right at home.