Adventures In Babysitting - Saturday Night

So, since Friday, Sharon has been promising the Girls that we would all watch a movie Saturday night, and that they were really going to like it.   

It ends up being a recurring topic of conversation for most of Friday and Saturday.  For example: ice cream is promised as part of the package.  Really?  What flavors?  Can we each have a different one?  If there’s two kinds of ice cream, can we have some of each?  What is Neapolitan?  So if Neapolitan has three flavors, how many do the other kinds have?  What else is in Banana ice cream besides banana?

The interrogation continues:

Them:  “What is the movie called?”

Me: “Flushed.”
Them: “What is it about?”
Me: “It’s about a rat that gets flushed down the toilet.”  The girls look at each other, then their heads both turn to look at me, solemn-like and skeptical.   Sharon shoots me The Look.   
Me: “But it’s really interesting.  See, he’s the pet of a rich girl in England, and he gets flushed down the toilet and finds a whole new world!”

This seems to satisfy them.  Dinner is uneventful, and the Girls prepare for the movie.  Kayla establishes the seating order, and has me move the coffee table one inch closer to the couch.  Since we’re having ice cream at some point, she has me pre-stage the lap trays and spaces us out so there will be enough room for both.  I ask her if she and Jenna can’t just sit closer and share a tray.  She gives me this “what, are you crazy?” look, and patiently explains why that won’t work. 

The movie is a big hit: The Girls particularly love the dozens of slugs that pop up throughout the movie, acting as a kind of Greek Chorus, but also to sing show tunes.  As the credits come up, Kayla asks “can we watch it again?”  Mama Sharon replies, “you mean like now”?  “Yes”.  “No, no you can’t watch it again now.  Now is bedtime, and guess who is going to read to you tonight?  Papa Pete”.

About this time, Cheryl and Kyle call to check on the Girls and tell them good night.  When the phone gets passed to Jenna, I hear Cheryl’s voice and then Kyle’s.  Part of the conversation involves Kyle’s mom and dad, known to the Girls as Paw Paw and Honey.  After she’s done talking and hands the phone back to Sharon, Jenna announces to the room that: “we call them Paw Paw and Honey because we don’t know their real names.”

Soon after, we head up stairs, baths having been taken care of earlier.  Since Friday bedtime was so uneventful, I’m feeling pretty good about my prospects of pulling this off without controversy.  The Girls brush their teeth and hop into bed.  The reading of the story about Miss Smith is a big success, which is to say that the Girls only correct me six times, and on several other occasions  stop me so as to provide useful background information.   I am chastised if I try to embellish even a little bit, and mid-story, there is almost a moment of drama when I skip a page, both girls bringing things to a cold stop.  Oops, sorry.

Now it is time for lights out, and the Girls ask if they can listen to some music.  I seemed to recall Mama Sharon saying something about them playing music last night, but I was fuzzy as to whether or not she approved, so I went with my gut and figured it was a con; plus, I’m already on a “no” roll: It started when Kayla pulled out the board game “Sorry” just before story time; Then they both bailed out of bed seconds after the story was over and announced that they wanted to play for a while, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.  So, it was no board games, no playing, no getting out of bed; and no music.

Big mistake.   Kayla turns away from me, put her hands on either side of her face, buries her head in her pillow and starts to cry.  Sitting up in bed, Jenna gives me a defiant look, and then her lower lip trembles.  “I’m going to tell my Mom on you.”  “Really, what for?”  “Because you won’t let us listen to music.”  I’m still not sure whether I’m being played, and then Jenna starts crying too, gigantic tears rolling down her face.

Mere seconds have passed.  How did this situation get out of control so quickly?  Groping for options, I do what any adult male not their father would do in this situation: I panic and tell them that of course, of course they can listen to music.  “We can listen to our music?”, Kayla asks, sniffling.  “Why yes, yes, of course you can listen to your music.  You must certainly listen to your music.”

Thank god neither of them chose that moment to ask for an iPad, or, say, a puppy.

Within but additional seconds, the drama is over, and Kayla turns on some tunes that sound like Sea Shanties.  I intend to ask her about this curious music choice, but Jenna decides to press her advantage, jumps out of bed and declares that she wants to play.  I’m pretty sure I’m on firmer ground on this one though, put her back into bed and tell her she needs to stay there: “And remember what Mama Sharon said; she doesn’t want to hear any feet hitting the ground.”

Cry your way around that one, Little Missies.  Was I a chicken for invoking Sharon’s name?  Sure.  But you got to fight fire with fire.