I love kids. Especially when they’re not mine. I mean sure, I may or may not have accidentally given one of my best friend’s son adult Benadryl at 6 months old (whatever, all it did was make him sleep for 3 days, soo you’re actually welcome), and I possibly could have vomited on my niece when I was super hung-over but she did NOT move fast enough and wouldn’t leave me alone. Oh, and I perhaps dropped my nephew off at the wrong school once..but other than that, I’m the girl to call when you need a sitter.
Just ask my older sister. I spend a ton of time with her kids, (especially since she bought a house next to my parents and I’d much rather roll my way over there with my bar rando. Also, she doesn’t get as mad when I throw up everywhere). She’s super thankful I’m around, especially since as a result her kids are angels. And by ‘angels’ I mean complete and total psychos.
I taught my nephew the art of salamander hunting, passed on everything I know about sharks (specifically great whites but we focus on the species as a whole out of respect, in addition to aquatic life in its entirety) and joke telling.
My niece? Well that betch is another story. She is literally my 4-year-old best friend. I almost feel bad that my sister somehow managed to give birth and be forced to raise what seems to be my child, but I’m not sorry because she is hands down the most fabulous thing I’ve come across since the Bedazzler.
She is also a daily reminder as to why I myself have not yet recreated.
I’m talking about the same girl who demanded to be taken to Stop & Shop every Sunday because “she gets cheese and everyone tells her she’s pretty”, who always reminds me to brush my hair and put makeup on, even if it’s just “scara and gloss” before I leave the house because “you just never know” and whose always good for a solid eye roll and rude comment when an ex-boyfriend is in the near vicinity.
Ex-boyfriend comes up to us at the beach:
Me: “Hads do you remember [insert d-bags name]?”
Hads: Blank stare. Direct eye contact. Multiple blinks.
D-Bag: “Hey Hads!”
Hads: Turns towards me with same emotionless, blank stare. “Why is he talking to us?”
She is the definition of fierce. Homegirl had her own reality series at 3. Sure, I helped film it and post it on the internet since she doesn’t know how to read, but trust me, that girl is going places. Just the other day I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, her response?
“I don’t even care. I just want to be old enough to wear a bra.”
She also recently told me that she’s decided to “take a year off” from school, but I just don’t think that’s realistic. She’s somehow mastered the art of obtaining multiple boyfriends, though none of them actually know they’re her boyfriend. If I could bottle her secrets and sell them, I wouldn’t need to work anymore.
She’s my go-to for advice on anything fashion related and she’s always sympathetic to my issues. Here we are on Wine-down-Wednesday:
**Disclaimer: before anyone goes to the authorities, there is nothing but water in her glass, she calls it “water wine” and refuses to drink liquids out of anything other than a wine glass. I also feel it necessary to point out that I don’t normally dress like a ninja
Soo basically, consider this an open invite for anyone who may need a babysitter to reach out and I’ll let you know my availability. If you need references, here’s a picture of me babysitting last summer. We’re in the middle of playing my favorite game called “Auntie Jenny is hung-over”. The rules are that I lay on the bathroom floor dry heaving while they bring me Gatorade, chicken nuggets and call for help.
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