I will preface this post by saying that I have the most awesome family in the world. I appreciate them tremendously, and I'd never survive as a single mom without their support--it is both humbling and amazing how quickly they say yes to watching Mark when I need a babysitter.
However...that being said, the quality of child care has dropped quite a bit.
When I received a last-minute ticket to see Maroon 5 this weekend, my mom graciously agreed to watch Mark. It got even better when we arrived--because we were taking a party bus to/from the concert, my mom insisted I stay at my friend Nicky's.
"I can handle Mark overnight," she said, and I couldn't love her any more than I did in that moment.
My brother Brad and his wife Shanda were also in town.
"Come on, Mark," they said. "We're going to Oktoberfest."
"Is that okay?" my mom asked, as they walked out the door.
"Of course," I replied. I knew he'd be safe and have fun with the family (and what else could I say? I took him to Oktoberfest myself last weekend!).
My worries started when I arrived home the next morning.
"Hi, Mom," Mark called, as he zipped past me in the hallway.
"Is he wearing the same clothes he was yesterday?" I asked my mom, who was right behind him.
She looked at Mark running away and said simply, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" I asked.
Mark ran by again, and smiled at me. All I could see was a mouthful of fuzzy teeth.
"Did he brush his teeth at all?" I asked.
"What do you want from me?" she said, holding up her hands. "He's alive, isn't he?"
I burst into laughter.
"Yes, he is," I answered. "But I didn't know that was the level of care we were striving for here."
"He's fine," my mom said. "He ate really well at Oktoberfest. He drank two sodas--"
"Three!" Mark interrupted. "I had three sodas!"
My mom saw my concerned face and shrugged. "OK," she said. "So I didn't see that last soda...but he's fine."
"Let me get this straight," I said. "He's wearing the same clothes I dropped him off in, he drank THREE sodas, and he hasn't brushed his teeth since he's been here?"
"Like I said...what do you want from me?" my mom repeated, and this time, we all burst into laughter. (I wasn't really mad, just thought it was funny.)
Mom and I went off to buy a gift for a birthday party that afternoon. When we got home, the house was strangely quiet.
"Where's Mark?" I asked my dad.
"He went with Brad and Shanda," Dad answered.
"To the brewery?!?" I asked.
"To the birthday party," Dad clarified.
"They were going beer-tasting at a brewery first," I told him. This was news to my dad.
I knew Mark's motives--it wasn't quality time with his aunt and uncle. No, he was lured by a more basic instinct. He knew where there was beer, there was also soda (maybe even root beer!), and he was all over that.
By the time I arrived at the party, Mark was pretty sugared up. Two cans of carbonated juice were lined up before him, and he was about to pop open a third.
"He's already had two cans," Shanda warned me. I shot him a look.
"This is my SECOND can," he announced. I silently pointed at the empty cans beside him.
"Fine, it's my third," he admitted. "But I bolused."
"Get some water instead," I told him. He groaned but did it. He drank the water, then 15 minutes later when no one was looking, he downed the third juice as well.
In the end, I just went with it. Like my mom said, Mark was still alive, there was no permanent damage and that seemed good enough for me. I got to hang out with my friends, and a grubby, hyperactive kid all hopped up on sugar seemed a small price to pay for it.
And hey, I wasn't going to look into the whole situation too deeply. Because if I did, I'd realize that the bad parents in this scenario weren't the ones who fed him soda or took him to the brewery...it was the parent who entrusted him to those parents!
Whatever. Like my mom said, Mark was alive, and he had a great weekend. And now I know where we've set the bar, and the standard of care I can expect. I guess you really do get what you pay for!
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