August 24, 2006
Nephs 2
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

Once a year I donate my time to a needy cause: I baby-sit for my nephews, allowing my brother and sister-in-law time to regroup and sleep.

This year I presented the babysitting anniversary as a weekend getaway package for my boyfriend; kind of like a gift, but not really.

He fell for it (ha ha, I laugh).

We loaded the car with some clothes and necessary supplies (half case of wine) and we were off.

As an aunt, there is nothing quite like the moment of arrival at their house. Both boys’ smiles turn upward in animated awareness, and I run toward them in slow motion, arms stretched out, like I’m in a field of poppies.

I scoop them up, drown them in kisses and usually pinch their little behinds (a cheek is a cheek is a cheek).

This year was easier: there were no longer diapers in the house; the boys dressed themselves; and they played without constant supervision.

For a brief moment I thought maybe I could own a pet of some kind, or maybe just a houseplant.

My sister-in-law left all-American food for us to cook the first night: veggie hotdogs and Laura’s lean hamburger.

Truly scrumptious.

My boyfriend squirted mustard on his dog and it came out Kelly green. Fearful, and a little grossed out, he looked to me for an answer.

“It’s kid food, I guess.”

But he pointed out that nowhere on the package did it mention anything about the color green.

We deferred to the five-year-old.

“Oh, mommy did that for my Hulk birthday party…”

I have always taken issue with food coloring, and this day was no exception; luckily the ketchup was still red.

So, on the first evening my boyfriend and I decided that a tired kid in the morning would be a good kid in the morning, so we allowed them to stay up until 10:30.

“Run around the yard again,” I’d say, snickering and setting my inner clock to sleeping in late.

But morning came, and with it the sun; the boys were staring over my bed at 7 a.m..

“We want pancakes,” they chanted.

“But aunt Jill is sleeping peacefully…you know where the grapes are, right?”

“We want pancakes.”

Wearing dark circles and housefrau slippers, I lumbered to the kitchen.

The boys hadn’t stopped smiling from the night before; I said, “You’re killing aunt Jill, you know.”

They giggled.

The next night we allowed them to stay up past midnight; the following morning there they stood smiling…this time at 6:45.