Pseudo-Mom

My sister has common sense about a lot of things – but who she leaves her kids with is not one of them.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” she asked as I buckled her children into my car.

Could I handle it? Did my own sister seriously just ask if I could handle it?

“Hello,” I said, “My name is B.J. It’s been biologically possible for me to have a child for 15 years now.”

“But two of them…”

“Seriously. How hard can 24 hours be?”

I should have known better than to ask that question. Now I had to prove it. Somehow, some way – I had to show that I was just as capable as my sister. Sure, I’d never watched a two and a four-year-old before. But mentally you could say I was on the same level. I know what kids want:

Food.

The next 24 hours consisted of McDonald’s, Krispy Kreme, Chuck E. Cheese, Dairy Queen, and any restaurant that said children under age five ate free.

When their mother arrived home, the kids and I were sprawled on the couch like belly-up jellyfish.

“Did you miss me?” my sister asked.

Groan.

“Did you have fun with Auntie BJ?”

Groan.

“Did you want to get dinner?”

“Noooooo…”

I blamed it on a stomach bug. You understand. The whole I’m A Good Pseudo-Mom image to keep up. I’m pretty sure my sister fell for it.

Now if I could just figure out how to hide this column from her…

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B.J. Hamrick is a local writer who can be reached at writebrained@gmail.com, www.bjhamrick.com, or www.twitter.com/bjhamrick -- unless she’s burning every newspaper
within a five-mile radius of her sister’s house.