Isn't laughter the best medicine?

Last year when Thibault or Clément got sick and feverish, I was able to avoid administering suppositories. I simply explained to their mom that I have no idea what to do with that bullet-shaped pen cap. This year, I wasn't so lucky. Both kids had fevers at the beginning of the school year. It seems that instead of manufacturing chewable children's aspirin, the French find it more effective to just shove a hardened cream up their ass. I can wrap my mind around this concept for babies, however when I approach a child with a suppository and they immediately drop trou and assume the position, I believe this is an indicator of being old enough to receive your medicine orally. I feel like I've become far too acquainted with my boys assholes. The mind-bending dichotomy comes in that their dad has begun to encourage their modesty and asks them to avoid letting me see them naked. Evidently, full frontal nudity is too imposing but shoving things through the back door is acceptable.

There's Something About Dylan

I did some babysitting last night (I love that this is how I make my living by the way, as if I'm still 14 years old...) for 3 boys. The middle kid, 4yo Dylan, is obsessed with the following: penises, butts, farts, burps and swear words; which is why he is, by far, my favorite of the three. At the end of the night, I asked him to go upstairs and put on his pj's and I'd be up in a second. When I approached his room, he was standing in the doorway with his hips jutting toward me. Reflexively I looked to find he'd managed to pull both penis and balls above the waistband of his underwear. And he's screaming at me, "LOOK! LOOK AT THIS!" and pointing right at it, as if I could possibly not notice. I gave him a high-five for originality. I can honestly say in 28 years, I've never seen this.

I wish I could have done more babysitting for this family (they're moving to England next week) because I have such a good time being a juvenile boy. Before Dylan and his 8yo brother Jacob went to bed, I warned them that if something stank in the morning, it'd probably because I planned to sneak in while they were sleeping and fart on their pillows. They thought that was hilarious and gross; admittedly it is.

I stayed over so that this morning I could have breakfast with the whole family. I knew we were having pancakes, so I told Dylan that his was coming with ketchup on it. He freaked out, and ran into the kitchen to tell his dad that he did NOT want ketchup on his pancakes. His dad was totally confused, and I was laughing my ass off in the living room overhearing this. Where has this kid been all my life?

Dead baby jokes are funny, right?

In April I spent 10 hellish days taking care of 3yo twins in the south of France. Each night I either passed out from exhaustion or cried myself to sleep from frustration. On the 10th day, I vowed to never EVER spend time alone with what I assume to be God's punishment for my atheism. 3 months later, I still get chills when I see those brats, even though they're angels when they are with their regular nanny.

Cut to this morning when I received a call from their mother, proposing a week in the south of France with the twins again. My first instinct is to hold my cell phone directly in front of my face and bellow, "FUCK YOU!" However, I'm becoming increasingly anxious that my bank statements consistently show only double-digit balances and I'm moving to NY in the fall and have two trips coming up this summer. Now, I can understand why Mexicans will illegally work in slaughter houses. The need to make ends meet far outweighs the probability that you'll lose a finger or get a smattering of intestinal blood in your eye. There's really no chance I'm at stake for either of those consequences, but I can't say the same for the twins.