While working the last Saturday of my internship yesterday (cue the “Hallelujah” chorus– Saturdays are full of little kid events and coordinating rooms full of parents and giving tours of our facility trying to answer off-the-wall questions… it’s exhausting) my former neighbor called to see if I had gone back to college yet. Luckily for her, her husband, and the fun evening on the town they had planned, I don’t until next Thursday, thus was available to baby-sit their two sons on very short notice. Now, I would not have done this for just anyone, not to mention I thought my baby-sitting days were mostly behind me. These two boys however were literally born and raised right next door for 8 and 11 years, so to say I have a soft spot for these two rambunctious blondes is a bit of an understatement. I’m able to tell them stories “I remember before your brother was born…” “That one time we couldn’t tell if it was Oreos in your teeth or dirt…” that mostly just make me feel old, but also nostalgic for the days when they hadn’t figured out their brother served nicely as a human punching bag. I hadn’t seen them in about a year, and now they’ve moved out from next door and are currently living in the next town over. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they’re at extremely easy ages in which they’re more or less doing their own thing, can do most things for themselves, and best of all– know that 9:30 is bedtime and don’t put up a fight when the clock’s hands land on it. They picked Subway for dinner, and the oldest one opted to stay home for ten minutes while the little one came with me to supervise my sandwich ordering skills (and “Doriiiiiiitos!!!!”) I asked if he was too short to sit up front in my car and he said yes, thanks for the honesty little guy, so we pulled out of the driveway with me essentially Driving Miss Daisy. Now while he was in no way phased by this, I thought the whole situation was rather amusing: me, the 21-year-old college student who has no desire in the world to pass on her genes to another life, suddenly concerned about what’s on the radio because there’s an adorable eight-year-old in the back asking her why there’s kitchen supplies in the backseat (“I moved into a new apartment last week. Don’t worry, I’ll get to them.” I taught him the word “chauffeur”, and he was quite helpful in carrying the bag of sandwiches to the car. My favorite part was when we got stuck behind a van going about 10 mph through an intersection and I vocalized some of my frustration (no, this does not end in me cursing out other drivers and scarring my little passenger for life.) From the backseat I hear, “My dad yells at other cars when they don’t do good, too.” Melt. Afterward, the three of us went for ice cream, and I learned that little kids are perhaps the slowest ice cream eaters in the history of the world. I had to keep vigilance with a napkin to wipe up the multiple drips and spills, and the older one proclaimed he didn’t like the taste of the chocolate chips in his chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, so would eat away the ice cream and dough then spit out the chocolate chips. More power to you, buddy. On the ride home I found out they’ve been to a Taylor Swift concert, know some Lady Gaga songs, and have already been playing tackle football for three years (when I went to school, tackling wasn’t introduced until 7th grade.) So basically, now I feel beyond ancient, and realize that unfortunately my little guys are getting all grown up. When they were asleep and the parents came home, the mom thanked me again for being able to come at a moment’s notice, though I really should have thanked her for one of the more relaxing and entertaining nights I’ve had in a while. Who knows when they next time I see them will be– perhaps one of them will be tall enough to sit in the front seat by then.