young dads: living the dream

- parts of my body ache.
- the neck, for example.
- from a trampoline encounter.
- even though girlfriend has checked several times, i still feel like i probably have lice.
- my default conversational strategy is to absent-mindedly repeat whatever it is you are saying, except in a tone of feigned alarm.
- often i go on to add, “that’s very silly.”
- for example: “you’re calling to offer a competitive rate for me to refinance my home?! that’s very silly.”
- whereas normally i would say, “what a coincidence! i would like to offer you a competitive rate, which you could then use to adorn my genitals in festive holiday-themed decorations.”
- if i sit down for longer than ten minutes, i fall asleep.
- then, when i wake up, it is with a mouth full of pennies, or caps from markers, or a mixture of orange juice and milk.

i could go on, but i won’t. some of you are saying: “jesse, the above would indicate that you have discovered mescaline.” but others of you, and these are the correct ones, are saying, “ha ha! someone roped you into being the full-time caregiver of some children! ha ha ha ha. sucker. additionally, zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

seven-year-old female child: WHATS KAFFERINES LAST NAME
me: come on! you know katherine’s last name!
syofc: KITTY CAT
me: nope! uh, it starts with a “t.”
syofc:
me: and it ends with an “ompson”! ha ha ha!
syofc:
me:
syofc: TROMPSON
me: trom—”trompson”? are you fucking serious with this? “trompson.”
syofc: WHATS FUKCING

so katherine used to be the babysitter/mother’s helper for this family in boston, and recently both parents had to be out of town for a few days, but katherine had class. me, i have no job, nor does my calendar feature anything resembling “time commitments.” so i agreed to be the 24-hour caregiver from wednesday night to saturday morning, with katherine showing up on friday morning to help out. we are dealing here with a seven-year-old female child and a thirteen-year-old male child, so already this is Caregiving Lite, in that both kids are banished from the house during the middle of the day, and neither of them wears diapers or has to be fed pureed turnips or whatever the fuck. and things started out very unchallengingly. wednesday night they both enthusiastically devoured a potentially scary-to-kids stirfry i made for dinner. then, thursday morning, they were very cooperative in getting out of bed on time, giving me breakfast instructions, leaving the house and at least pretending to go to school, etc. i was stoked.

“literally nothing could be easier than taking care of children,” i said aloud.

i had just finished mapped out my day—errands, lengthy nap, writing, edifying 45-minute lecture to the children on pre-WWII German art and the Neue Sachlichkeit—when the phone rang.

me: hi! this is jesse!
voice: hello, jesse. this is nurse k. the nurse at “violet’s” school.
me: sick.
nurse k: jesse, you are the babysitter for “violet,” are you not?
me: i prefer to use the word “caregiver,” just bec
nurse k: jesse, i have examined “violet’s” head, and she has a lice situation.
me: a what.
nurse k: she has a lice situation, in her hair.
me: a lice “situation”?
nurse k: hundreds of lice are currently living on her scalp. they have affixed their eggs to strands of her hair with their saliva.
me: oh my god.
nurse k: she cannot be allowed to stay in school. when can you pick her up?
me: uhhh.
nurse k: come to school immediately. i will give you further instructions when you arrive.
me:
nurse k:
me:
nurse k: jesse? are you still there?
me: am i still there?! that’s very silly.

so i picked up violet, and then we had to go to rite-aid. however, violet’s legs hurt, so getting her to walk there was out of the question. instead, we conveyed her to rite-aid via bike, which she pedaled merrily around the interior, mortally wounding senior citizens. meanwhile, i wasn’t sure what product to get.

me: “nix.”
me: sounds good!
violet, appearing suddenly and indicating generic lice shampoo: CAN WE GET THAT ONE TOO
me: well, we only need one.
violet: OKAY BUT CAN WE GET THAT ONE TOO
me: what?
violet: GET THAT ONE TOO
me: but we really just need one. and this one comes with a comb! we’re going to comb your hair.
violet: YAYYY
me: so we’ll get this one then.
violet: OKAY BUT I WANT TO GET THAT ONE TOO

kids are bizarre. also, i don’t want to make too big a deal out of this, but washing this girl’s hair and then combing the nits out of it was the most difficult thing i have ever had to do. then we went to a supermarket, again with the bicycle. let me say this: i am as susceptible to hyper-sweetened pseudo-foods and their brightly colored packaging as the next guy. i have never gone into a supermarket expressly seeking a $1.39 box of Mike And Ikes, but sometimes i see them, and i buy them. this has happened to you. it has happened to all of us. however, you do not truly have a sense of how grossly fucking evil the supermarket is, in terms of expensive-and-nutritionally-abysmal-food, until you have attempted to shepherd a small child through one.

me: so for tonight, we need: broccoli, an onion, curry paste, coconut milk. violet, can you help me find the broccolOH MY GOD, PUT THOSE DOWN.
violet: CAN WE GET NOW-N-LATERS
me: NO.
violet: MOM ALWAYS GETS ME NOW-N-LATERS
me: there’s no WAY that’s true.
violet: OKAY CAN WE GET LUCKY CHARMS NOW WITH SPECIAL LARD FLAVOR MARSHMALLOWS
me: jesus christ, no.
violet: I WANT LUCKY CHA-A-A-A-A-ARMS
me: put that back. PUT IT BACK.
violet: HOW ABOUT I WILL PUT IT BACK IF WE GET FIZZY ORANGE SYRUP
me: are you—are you for real with that? i don’t even know what that is.
violet: HERE
me: oh jesus. seriously? they sell this? to human beings.
violet: PLEEEEEEASE

bottom line, we were lucky to escape alive. there was obviously more, much more, but maybe we’ll leave that for another blog entry. i need a nap.

in closing, i want to apologize to my sister. happy birthday, lena. i’m really sorry i failed to call you.

that was very silly.