babbysitting

I babysit the daughter (Ivy) of a doctor at the hospital where I volunteer, accumulating ‘clinical hours’ for my med school applications. According to my mom, the purpose of my current existence is to get into med school. That may sound crazy or theater-mom-ish but she has strong arguments - like Aristotle (all things strive toward full potential), stoicism (there’s a role for all living things) and vitalism (there’s a purpose, in life, beyond survival) - so, who am I to argue? Straight brag, I’m a certified, Girl Scout Safe-Sitter®. little Ivy and I will be eye to eye (metaphorically) for three hours today - no phones, TV or Internet - just paints, swings, barbies, a Montessori math game and a new toy called “MyFirst camera” which lets her print low-res, smeary, photos on ultra-thin paper. I met Ivy when she was 4, now she’s on the edge of 6. She’s got large chestnut brown eyes that match her hair - which is cut in a shoulder length angled-bob. She’s about 3½-feet of cuteness, in her pink ballet-flat shoes. I’d describe her clothes, but she changes about every hour. “What are you wearing now?” I find myself asking the princess or jedi. “Can I help you officer?” I ask the business-like cop in a ballet tutu. We’re old hats at this babysitting gig. When Ivy picked up her camera, I asked, “Can I take your picture?” reaching out to take the thing. “In a minute,” she said, lining me up in the viewfinder. “No,” she said, suddenly turning into a photographer highly critical of my look. “(pose) Like a model,” she directed, before striking, for a brief moment, a perfect, indifferent, hands-on hips pose herself. Kids pick up on everything. I took her direction and struck a pose. Later, as we painted dragons that looked like flowers, she asked, “Why’s the sky blue?” When Ivy asks questions, it’s like she’s getting a second opinion or testing to see what I know. “Blue?” I said, acting like I was confused. “The sky is GREEN.” “NNOOO,” she said. “You’re colorblind!” I exclaimed in alarm, “Does your mom know?! “The sky is BLUE,” she said, with the seriousness of certainty. “We’ll see,” I said, like a doubting thomas. I held up five fingers, “How many colors am I holding up?” She looked at me, side-eyed for less than a beat, then said “No.” We had hours of fun. Later, when her mom came home, she asked “How’s it going guys?” As she set down her purse and keys. Ivy looked up from her work, gluing a collage of the day's photos and said, “Ok.” “We had fun,” I reported, “I’ve been teaching her some comedy things.” “Like what?” her mom asked, nonplussed. Ivy eyed me suspiciously. “Like when she falls, she should wait for the laugh. She can’t just - get up.” . . straight brag = shameless self-promotion