From The Mouth Of Babes: Shit I Learn From Kids

Sometimes I feel like a Mommy Blogger

February 25, 2011
By Stacy

But I’m definitely not a Mommy Blogger, let alone a mommy. Or even close to a one. I don’t think. I hope. No, definitely not. And maybe you’ve seen this before, but I haven’t and I saw it on a friend’s facebook and I fell in love. So I had to share. Touching words from the mouth of babes. A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, ‘What does love mean?’ The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think: ‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love..’ . Rebecca- age 8 ‘When someone loves you, The way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’ . Billy – age 4 ‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.’ . Karl – age 5 ‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody

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Today’s perfect shade is tomorrow’s best memory.

January 19, 2011
By Stacy

In my last post, I introduced Lucy – the 10-year-old that I bonded with over a single night of babysitting. I alluded to her saying something at bed time that struck my memory, and I said I’d save that thought for next time. Welcome to next time. So after our evening of sharing hearts, her asking me every question under the sun and her telling me I was her favorite babysitter (not the first time that’s been said…), I tucked Lucy in to bed. On my way out of her room, Lucy called to me. “Hey Stacy…” “Yeah, Luc?” (We were definitely on a nickname basis) “Have a good life.” It wasn’t specifically Déjà Vu, but I knew that wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words in her exact, earnest tone. I tilted my intrigued head and scrunched a baffled brow as I pulled from my memory. My wonder eased into a smile realizing “have a good life” was something I’d said to a friend and written about on my Asia travels way back when (surprisingly a year from last week—time.flies..flipping.fast.). I pulled out some Asian archives, edited slightly and here’s the basic recap: As I hugged Toby goodbye

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And Again I’m Provoked By A 10 Year Old

January 12, 2011
By Stacy

A friend of mine out here (CO) works at One Steamboat Place— the newest, nicest resort in town. If you’ve ever sipped on tap water, it’s likely you won’t ever stay here (having bathed in the tap water is fine, but don’t you dare have brushed your teeth with it). Over the Christmas week, this friend set me up with a few babysitting jobs for the visiting families. Paid my rent in a few nights. (And there I go making myself sound like a stripper again) So one family I babysat for had like 8 kids. Well it was two families, that shoved their wild child(s) into one condo for me to police. There were a few 4 year olds and 7 year olds and then one girl who was 10- the coolest 10 year old I’ve ever met. She was basically sitter numero dos –so much of a right arm that I thought I should have slipped a ten or twenty under her pillow when her parents handed me their pennies, my fortune. Lucy was from Chicago but had recently moved to London on account of her dad’s job. He trades currency, trillions of currencies. She’s been in London

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No Plan is a Good Plan

December 3, 2010
By Stacy
No Plan is a Good Plan

“So first we’re going to practice our songs for the show at the hot tub, and then we’ll practice in the sauna for our performance at dinner, then after dinner we’ll rehearse for tomorrow? Okay, can that be the plan?” My 9 year old family friend’s granddaughter asked for my approval on her structured agenda over the past weekend I just spent in Steamboat Springs, CO. I said, slow down there with the planning cowgirl and told her no plan is a good plan. She didn’t grasp it, and continued to suggest we have a sleepover in her bed, then wake up and make pancakes and then we’d split for a few hours –she’d go sledding and I’d go boarding– and then we’d meet back up and practice more, then go to the hot tub and of course practice again, then I’d braid her hair and then we’d sit next to each other at dinner, and we’d perform any or all of Lady GaGa’s chart toppers. Anyone who strayed got an arm removed, or so her meticulousness seemed to threaten. Truthfully, it all did sound fun and great (especially the pancakes part, er, or the GaGa ballads), but come on

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Anyone know the cut-off age for temper tantrums?

November 16, 2010
By Stacy

I wondered this as I looked at the girl I babysit kicking up a fit because I was holding her pumpkin-shaped cookie hostage until she finished her peanut butter sandwich. For one, I thought all kids had to like, if not die for, peanut butter AND jelly. Like it’s a right of pre-school passage. First you learn to wipe your own ass, and then you learn to love PB and J- no matter how many times your far from Rachel Ray mom packs one in your princess lunchbox. You demand the crust cut off and it cut in half, then you eat it with a smile. This little girl, however, said hold the jelly, keep the crust, don’t slice it and give me my cookie instead. I stared at her with devil eyes and then I got to thinking about how good a PB n J really, really is. The hook is in its sweet and salty component- same with popcorn and chocolate (if you wanted to woo me) or olives and vodka (to back end woo me). At work, I used to rotate between bringing pb and j for lunch or turkey and cheese. But these days of not

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Not ready to make nice

October 28, 2010
By Stacy

Leah is the little girl I babysit for. My dad knows her, too, because she is his business partner’s granddaughter. She is highly imaginative and wise beyond her almost 7 years. Leah and I were in a cab together today when my dad called. I looked at Leah for approval then said, “Dad, I’m with Leah…she wants to talk.” It was a quick, few seconds of chit chat before she hung up. “What’d he have to say?” I asked her. “Oh nothing…” “Girl, spill.” Giggles. “I said, spill,” my fingers reached for the tickle spots that she hates, which of course means I, the torturer, love those spots. “Okay, okayyyy,” She said pleading mercy. “He just asked if you were being nice to me.” “And…” Giggles, giggles, giggles. Silence. “Leah, I’m always nice to you, and I will tickle you all the way home.” Her sly smile formed at one end. “And I’m always nice to Zachy, too.” “How about mommy?” she posed. “Always nice to mommy.” “And daddy, are you nice to daddy?” “Always nice to daddy, too.” Then Leah got philosophical, that wisdom of hers flaring. “Okay, what’s most important, though….Are you nice to yourself?” “Duh.” I said,

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