Babysit a Rookie Walker Is a Piece of Cake. NOT!

“How hard can it be?” I wondered when son Brendan asked Kate and me to watch 1-year-old Avery for a few minutes while he ran an errand.

After all, I’d become a pro these past few years at reining in four Italian stallions without too much strain or additional gray hairs in my silver mane, so I figured that tethering a leprechaunish pony should be as easy as cow pies, right? I soon realized the folly of my ways and learned that the Four Horsemen paled in comparison with Avery, who forced me to face my apocalypse. NOW.

The quadhorsemen evolved, as sort of my breaking-in period, starting with Vincent, now 9, joined by Jack, now 7, Luke, at 5, and little Patrick Michael, bringing up the rear at 3 now.


The Four Horsemen, clockwise from upper left, Vincent, Jack, Patrick and Luke.

Although each is a handful in his own way, I don’t recall any being as hell-bent-for-mischief as Avery Michael.

Well, now, I take that back. A couple of months ago, when I was staying overnight with the quartet so their parents could have some respite during an overnight trip, I was making dinner in the kitchen while the boys watched TV and/or played with Legos, or trucks, or this, or that.

But it seemed quieter than usual — their house often is nothing short of rock concert decibel noise level — and I realized that only three boys were in my line of sight. So I went to the living room that serves as their playroom and discovered that Patrick had opened a jar of paint. And spilled it. On himself. On the table. And onto the chair.

Panicked, I grabbed paper towels and ran to clean up the mess. That’s when I discovered that he also had smeared the blue paint all over the wall, too. Thank GAWD it was water-based, and I was able to eradicate most of it from the bright yellow, textured wall. But still … on the WALL? Patrick MICHAEL! What were you thinking? (On other hand, it reminded me of the time, when I was 10 or so, when I opened a can of paint in a neighbor’s basement, just out of curiosity, and it spilled all OVER the new tile floor. What was I thinking? DAMN! My dad was maaaaaaaad!)

Back to the present, when Skip and Melissa returned from their overnight, I confessed, embarrassed, what had happened. Melissa, who formerly could be a tad high strung on occasion and used to get a little chuffed when I put cereal and other stuff in the cupboard with the labels pointed the wrong way, now is the epitome of calm with her boisterous boys. And she acknowledged that it wasn’t the first time Patrick Michael had pulled a Michelangelo. He had done it under her watch, too, so I was off of the painter’s petard.

Alas, Avery is showing signs of being a frisky little fella, too, just like his father before him. The lad wouldn’t sit still, and the dogs’ water bowls were especially attractive to him. Like a moth to a flame, he kept rushing to the bowls, each time beating me to the punch and splashing water about.

He headed for the steps and was nearly halfway up before I caught up and put up the gate. Then out to the porch to play with Aunt Allison’s candles (fortunately, they weren’t lit), then back to the water bowls, then onto my lap for a minute before darting to the TV to try to touch the horses in the Derby. Here and there, hither and yon, like the kids in the Family Circus cartoon roam around the neighborhood on the way home.

When I, huffing and puffing, chafed at the task, Kate pointed out that the lad had just started walking, and he was determined to explore everything, everywhere. OK, OK, I understand, but I still can’t fathom the magnetic attraction of the dog water bowls, or the fathoms of water he splashes from them.

Marveling at how he was outpacing me, I remembered a key difference: I hadn’t consciously realized the adjustments I must have I made as the Italian train added cars, and I made allowances along the way. To the point that I can even take all four to a movie without losing my mind as I juggle popcorn, drinks, snacks and boys in a darkened theater.

The difference is, it occurs to me, that somebody’s got my back when I’m with the Four Horsemen. Although Patrick’s three predecessors as the caboose all are very protective of him when we’re out and about, Vincent is especially attentive. He hangs back to watch his little brother, as kind of my fifth column.

For example, when we were in a huge Halloween store in October, and the boys wandered in awe at all the scary masks and swords and costumes and goblins, oh, my, and I was having trouble keeping track, Vincent hung back and made sure Patrick didn’t slip disappear into the abyss of horror masks and mechanical spiders.

Ah, yes, the young teach the old. Problem now is that the Four Horsemen are in Florida, and I’m in Wisconsin, and the Avery train is in Minnesota. I know all four of the Italian Stallions would help me keep track of their smaller cousin, because they literally smothered him with affection when the little bugger visited them in the Sunshine State a couple of months back.

The Four Horsemen surround the pony boy.

So I’ll rely on Kate to have my back. And I’ll have to teach Avery, just as I did Vincent when I jumped the shark that is the Granddad Train, that it’s perfectly OK to have doughnuts for lunch at Dunkin’ Donuts, then go to Baskin Robbins next door for dessert, and stop at the Dairy Queen on the way home for a snack.

Although I’ve had to cut back on the ice cream because it doesn’t melt from my body like it does when my metabolism was young, I suspect Avery will help me burn the calories. And I can rely on visits from and to the Four Horsemen to keep both Avery and me in shape.

As for Brendan and Erica, they could be in for a bumpy ride. I’d suggest that, to Avery-proof their house, they might want to lock up all the paint, for starters.

Avery celebrates during a restaurant outing.

As for Brendan, he's going to have to perk up a bit to keep up with his leprechaun:

BTW, this photo is not posed. Look closely, and you'll see that I actually caught Brendan not only sleeping while holding Avery but also sleeping while TEXTING!. I confess, I fell asleep on occasion with a kid on my lap, but not TEXTING. Oh, WAIT. Back then, even pagers hadn't been invented. In fact, I believe we had a princess phone.