Part One
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| Image from barefootgirl.com |
When I was 15, I got my first babysitting job. It was for these two really cute little guys down the street, Carlos and Miguel Hernandez. They were eight and ten respectively, and typical little boys: full of energy, creativity, and with a penchant for getting into mischief. Nothing really bad; just typical little-boy mischievousness.
The Hernandez family got together with mine frequently, especially in summer and during the holidays. So when the boys' regular babysitter (a friend of mine) got sick suddenly on a Friday night when Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez had planned to go out, they naturally thought of asking me to take her place.
It was a warm, sticky evening in early June, and I was wearing a t shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. My long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it usually was in summer. Mrs. Hernandez greeted me at the door, and I was delighted to feel the rush of cool air...they had central air conditioning! We only had a window unit in one room, so it was a genuine pleasure to step out of the heat and humidity and into the cool house.
"Hola, Senorita Clarita," she said with a warm smile. I guess she knew I was taking Spanish at school, and wanted to give me a chance to speak it with a native Spanish speaker.
"Buenos noches, Senora Hernandez," I replied with my best accent.
"Muy bien! Pero esta 'buenas tardes.'" she gently corrected. "Very good, but it's 'good afternoon,'" is what she'd said.
"Si, Senora, gracias," I replied. I noticed Mr. Hernandez stepping into the room, and two cute little faces looking down shyly at me from the staircase. "Come on down, boys, Mr. Hernandez said. He had a deep, rich baritone voice, and I thought his accent sounded incredibly sexy. I had kind of a crush on him, I suppose.
The little guys came down the stairs and regarded me shyly. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez herded me and the boys into the living room and had us all sit down.
"Now boys," Mrs. Hernandez said, "you both know Miss Clarita. She's going to be your babysitter tonight. I expect you to obey her just like you do Miss Janie."
Janie was a friend of mine, and she'd been the one who suggested they call me.
Miguel, the ten-year-old, stood up like a perfect little gentleman. "Hello, Miss Clarita, welcome to our house," he said.
"It's a pleasure to be here, Miguel," I replied, delighted by his little blushing smile as he sat down. He elbowed his brother, who stood up in turn.
"Hi, I'm Carlos, but you already know that," he said quickly, and sat down. "Carlos, try again," his mother gently chided. Sighing, he stood again and said, "Hi, Clarita, welcome to our house."
"That's Miss Clarita tonight, dear," his mom said.
"Hi, Miss Clarita," the eight-year-old said, his face turning a delightful shade of red.
"Now boys," Mr. Hernandez said seriously, "Miss Clarita is in charge of you tonight. That means you behave yourselves and do what she tells you right away with no arguments. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," they chorused.
"And boys," their mom added, "don't forget Senor Rump Roast." She pointed to the wall; I looked over and saw a small wooden stick about the size of a ruler, hanging from a hook. The boys both blushed admirably, and I couldn't resist teasing them just a little.
"Senor Rump Roast, huh? I bet you guys don't want any close encounters with him!"
"No, I assure you they don't," Mr. Hernandez confirmed, and pointed to the corner adjacent to where the stick hung. "And that's the time-out corner, in case they give you any trouble." He looked pointedly at his sons. "But you won't, will you boys?"
"No, Sir," they chorused again. Clearly, they were embarrassed to have the fact that they got spanked and put in time-out announced to a teenage girl. I understood, having been spanked many times growing up; nothing was worse than having your parents reference your punishments in public!
"Oh, I'm sure they'll both be perfect little gentlemen," I said breezily, smiling at the boys.
"Well, have a nice evening, then," said Mrs. Hernandez, standing and picking up her purse. "The boys have KFC waiting in the kitchen, and of course there's enough for you, too. There's also ice cream for dessert, if the boys behave themselves, that is." She looked at her sons as she spoke, and they put on their most angelic faces. "They go to bed at nine," she told me.
"Yes, Ma'am, thank you," I replied. "And I have your cell number programmed into mine in case I need to contact you for some reason."
"Good, sweetie," she replied. "Also, the restaurant we're going to is called La Tia Morena, and the number's on the refrigerator."
"Great!" I said, standing and accompanying them to the door. "You guys have a really nice night; the boys and I are gonna have a great time together."
Mrs. Hernandez kissed the boys (who squirmed as all boys do with such attentions in front of someone new), and Mr. Hernandez issued a final exhortation to them to be on their best behavior and represent the Hernandez family well. I'd already liked this family; I found myself liking them even more now.
Once they'd driven away, I turned to the boys and said, "Okay, gentlemen. As long as you do what I tell you when I tell you, we'll have a great time tonight. If not," (I nodded in the general direction of the corner and the paddle), "well, you heard what your dad said. I'll tell him the truth, no matter what...understand?" I tried to look kind of severe, even though the 15-year-old Clarita Markinson wasn't exactly fierce.
"We'll behave," said Miguel.
"Good! So, are you two ready for some KFC?"
They were, unsurprisingly. We enjoyed eating together, and they enjoyed trying to outdo each other in impressing the new babysitter with stories of their exploits in school and elsewhere. They had a "fort" in the backyard-it was actually a treehouse their dad had built them--and I was obliged to go out in the waning light to see it.
"Very impressive, boys," I said as they climbed into the structure. It really was, in fact. Mr. Hernandez was obviously a talented carpenter. I let them goof off for awhile in the treehouse, and even climbed up myself! It was fun. It was getting dark, though.
"Alright, boys, you've been behaving perfectly so far, so who wants ice cream?" I asked.
"Oh! Me! Me!" I heard. They couldn't scramble down fast enough!
Inside we went, and I served two generous portions of chocolate ice cream for two delighted little guys. None for me, as I was watching my figure. Of course at 15, my figure wasn't much to write home about, but I was conscious of staying slim now that swimsuit weather was upon us.
After the ice cream, I asked the boys if there was something on TV they'd like to watch.
"Yeah!" Miguel shouted, and grabbed the remote. He flipped on a show that was so entertaining I have no memory of it. I noted the time as the show came to an end: 8:30.
"Okay, bedtime, boys," I announced. They both groaned.
"But we don't gotta go to bed 'til nine!" Carlos pouted.
"I know. And getting ready for bed takes time. I want you both in your pajamas, your teeth brushed, and both of you down here in ten minutes. Then you'll get to watch TV until nine."
"Aww..." Miguel groused, but he got up off the floor. Carlos did as his older brother did, as usual.
They climbed upstairs without enthusiasm. Why is getting kids to bed such a chore? Because they have boundless energy and want to stay up playing until they drop, I suppose.
A few minutes went by, and I heard the sound of running water and two little boys jostling for position in the bathroom. Then, silence; I assumed they were changing into their pjs. A minute later, I heard the sound of a Playstation being fired up at low volume. I smiled and shook my head. So, it was "test the new babysitter" time. Didn't kids realize that sound travels?
I climbed the stairs quietly in my bare feet and looked in the bedroom from which the sound emanated. There sat two little guys in the pajamas, playing a game as quietly as humanly possible.
"Ahem!" They turned around, actually having the nerve to look surprised!
"Um...we were just..." Miguel began.
"Just what? Didn't I tell you to come right back downstairs once you were in your pajamas?"
He looked down and said, "Yeah."
"So what are you doing?"
"Um... we just thought we'd play a little," said the older brother lamely.
"Well, I suggest you turn that off and come downstairs without one second's delay!" I said in my most commanding voice.
"Yes, Miss Clarita," said Carlos in a "poor me" voice. God, he was such a little cutie! Still, I knew I had to pass the test or risk losing their respect.
I went downstairs and sat on the couch. I was joined moments later by my two charges. I pointed at the corner.
"You guys owe me five minutes' corner time," I said matter-of-factly.
"No way!" Miguel had obviously decided it was time to take a stand and prove his manliness. No way was he going to be stood in the corner like a baby by a girl!
"No way? Did you do what I told you to?" I demanded.
"Well, kinda..."
"'Well, kinda' doesn't cut it. I suggest you put your nose in that corner before it turns into ten minutes," I said.
Miguel kicked the couch in anger. "Okay, ten minutes it is, then," I said calmly. "Get your little bottoms in the corner now, if you want to avoid a session with Senor Rump Roast."
Miguel put on a furious mask, and his little brother joined him. As they headed over to the corner, Carlos looked over his shoulder with a reproachful look and said, "You're mean!"
I chuckled. "Nope, I'm not mean. A mean babysitter would stick around to watch you get your little behinds spanked."
"Miss Janie does," Carlos mumbled. His brother elbowed him and hissed, "Shut up!" Obviously, the thought of going bottoms-up in front of the new babysitter was anathema to the ten-year-old. I grinned. So "Miss Janie" was the "mean babysitter" who stuck around to watch the boys get spanked at the end of the evening. I was going to have to give her grief over that!
They stood fairly quietly for about one minute. Of course, I had no intention of keeping them there for a full ten minutes; I knew that five would be more than enough. It would feel like a half-hour to the little guys! As they began to fidget, I warned, "You need to stand still in time-out, or it doesn't count." Miguel actually kicked the wall and dropped his hands from his head! I couldn't believe it; in my family, acting up like that in the corner was a sure ticket to what my dad euphemistically referred to as a "carpet inspection."
"Hmm... looks like someone does need an attitude adjustment," I said, stretching out on the sofa with my feet up. Just then, I heard a car pull up and saw the headlights. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez were home early! I had hoped to handle things myself and gotten the boys to bed without incident, but it looked like that wasn't happening.
"Miss Clarita! Please let us go upstairs!" Carlos begged.
"Sorry, bud," I replied. You haven't finished your corner time."
"But... but..." Miguel sputtered, his bravado gone in a flash.
"No buts," I said, then couldn't help but add something I'd often heard growing up: "Except your butts, going over your dad's knee."
The Hernandez family got together with mine frequently, especially in summer and during the holidays. So when the boys' regular babysitter (a friend of mine) got sick suddenly on a Friday night when Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez had planned to go out, they naturally thought of asking me to take her place.
It was a warm, sticky evening in early June, and I was wearing a t shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. My long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it usually was in summer. Mrs. Hernandez greeted me at the door, and I was delighted to feel the rush of cool air...they had central air conditioning! We only had a window unit in one room, so it was a genuine pleasure to step out of the heat and humidity and into the cool house.
"Hola, Senorita Clarita," she said with a warm smile. I guess she knew I was taking Spanish at school, and wanted to give me a chance to speak it with a native Spanish speaker.
"Buenos noches, Senora Hernandez," I replied with my best accent.
"Muy bien! Pero esta 'buenas tardes.'" she gently corrected. "Very good, but it's 'good afternoon,'" is what she'd said.
"Si, Senora, gracias," I replied. I noticed Mr. Hernandez stepping into the room, and two cute little faces looking down shyly at me from the staircase. "Come on down, boys, Mr. Hernandez said. He had a deep, rich baritone voice, and I thought his accent sounded incredibly sexy. I had kind of a crush on him, I suppose.
The little guys came down the stairs and regarded me shyly. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez herded me and the boys into the living room and had us all sit down.
"Now boys," Mrs. Hernandez said, "you both know Miss Clarita. She's going to be your babysitter tonight. I expect you to obey her just like you do Miss Janie."
Janie was a friend of mine, and she'd been the one who suggested they call me.
Miguel, the ten-year-old, stood up like a perfect little gentleman. "Hello, Miss Clarita, welcome to our house," he said.
"It's a pleasure to be here, Miguel," I replied, delighted by his little blushing smile as he sat down. He elbowed his brother, who stood up in turn.
"Hi, I'm Carlos, but you already know that," he said quickly, and sat down. "Carlos, try again," his mother gently chided. Sighing, he stood again and said, "Hi, Clarita, welcome to our house."
"That's Miss Clarita tonight, dear," his mom said.
"Hi, Miss Clarita," the eight-year-old said, his face turning a delightful shade of red.
"Now boys," Mr. Hernandez said seriously, "Miss Clarita is in charge of you tonight. That means you behave yourselves and do what she tells you right away with no arguments. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," they chorused.
"And boys," their mom added, "don't forget Senor Rump Roast." She pointed to the wall; I looked over and saw a small wooden stick about the size of a ruler, hanging from a hook. The boys both blushed admirably, and I couldn't resist teasing them just a little.
"Senor Rump Roast, huh? I bet you guys don't want any close encounters with him!"
"No, I assure you they don't," Mr. Hernandez confirmed, and pointed to the corner adjacent to where the stick hung. "And that's the time-out corner, in case they give you any trouble." He looked pointedly at his sons. "But you won't, will you boys?"
"No, Sir," they chorused again. Clearly, they were embarrassed to have the fact that they got spanked and put in time-out announced to a teenage girl. I understood, having been spanked many times growing up; nothing was worse than having your parents reference your punishments in public!
"Oh, I'm sure they'll both be perfect little gentlemen," I said breezily, smiling at the boys.
"Well, have a nice evening, then," said Mrs. Hernandez, standing and picking up her purse. "The boys have KFC waiting in the kitchen, and of course there's enough for you, too. There's also ice cream for dessert, if the boys behave themselves, that is." She looked at her sons as she spoke, and they put on their most angelic faces. "They go to bed at nine," she told me.
"Yes, Ma'am, thank you," I replied. "And I have your cell number programmed into mine in case I need to contact you for some reason."
"Good, sweetie," she replied. "Also, the restaurant we're going to is called La Tia Morena, and the number's on the refrigerator."
"Great!" I said, standing and accompanying them to the door. "You guys have a really nice night; the boys and I are gonna have a great time together."
Mrs. Hernandez kissed the boys (who squirmed as all boys do with such attentions in front of someone new), and Mr. Hernandez issued a final exhortation to them to be on their best behavior and represent the Hernandez family well. I'd already liked this family; I found myself liking them even more now.
Once they'd driven away, I turned to the boys and said, "Okay, gentlemen. As long as you do what I tell you when I tell you, we'll have a great time tonight. If not," (I nodded in the general direction of the corner and the paddle), "well, you heard what your dad said. I'll tell him the truth, no matter what...understand?" I tried to look kind of severe, even though the 15-year-old Clarita Markinson wasn't exactly fierce.
"We'll behave," said Miguel.
"Good! So, are you two ready for some KFC?"
They were, unsurprisingly. We enjoyed eating together, and they enjoyed trying to outdo each other in impressing the new babysitter with stories of their exploits in school and elsewhere. They had a "fort" in the backyard-it was actually a treehouse their dad had built them--and I was obliged to go out in the waning light to see it.
"Very impressive, boys," I said as they climbed into the structure. It really was, in fact. Mr. Hernandez was obviously a talented carpenter. I let them goof off for awhile in the treehouse, and even climbed up myself! It was fun. It was getting dark, though.
"Alright, boys, you've been behaving perfectly so far, so who wants ice cream?" I asked.
"Oh! Me! Me!" I heard. They couldn't scramble down fast enough!
Inside we went, and I served two generous portions of chocolate ice cream for two delighted little guys. None for me, as I was watching my figure. Of course at 15, my figure wasn't much to write home about, but I was conscious of staying slim now that swimsuit weather was upon us.
After the ice cream, I asked the boys if there was something on TV they'd like to watch.
"Yeah!" Miguel shouted, and grabbed the remote. He flipped on a show that was so entertaining I have no memory of it. I noted the time as the show came to an end: 8:30.
"Okay, bedtime, boys," I announced. They both groaned.
"But we don't gotta go to bed 'til nine!" Carlos pouted.
"I know. And getting ready for bed takes time. I want you both in your pajamas, your teeth brushed, and both of you down here in ten minutes. Then you'll get to watch TV until nine."
"Aww..." Miguel groused, but he got up off the floor. Carlos did as his older brother did, as usual.
They climbed upstairs without enthusiasm. Why is getting kids to bed such a chore? Because they have boundless energy and want to stay up playing until they drop, I suppose.
A few minutes went by, and I heard the sound of running water and two little boys jostling for position in the bathroom. Then, silence; I assumed they were changing into their pjs. A minute later, I heard the sound of a Playstation being fired up at low volume. I smiled and shook my head. So, it was "test the new babysitter" time. Didn't kids realize that sound travels?
I climbed the stairs quietly in my bare feet and looked in the bedroom from which the sound emanated. There sat two little guys in the pajamas, playing a game as quietly as humanly possible.
"Ahem!" They turned around, actually having the nerve to look surprised!
"Um...we were just..." Miguel began.
"Just what? Didn't I tell you to come right back downstairs once you were in your pajamas?"
He looked down and said, "Yeah."
"So what are you doing?"
"Um... we just thought we'd play a little," said the older brother lamely.
"Well, I suggest you turn that off and come downstairs without one second's delay!" I said in my most commanding voice.
"Yes, Miss Clarita," said Carlos in a "poor me" voice. God, he was such a little cutie! Still, I knew I had to pass the test or risk losing their respect.
I went downstairs and sat on the couch. I was joined moments later by my two charges. I pointed at the corner.
"You guys owe me five minutes' corner time," I said matter-of-factly.
"No way!" Miguel had obviously decided it was time to take a stand and prove his manliness. No way was he going to be stood in the corner like a baby by a girl!
"No way? Did you do what I told you to?" I demanded.
"Well, kinda..."
"'Well, kinda' doesn't cut it. I suggest you put your nose in that corner before it turns into ten minutes," I said.
Miguel kicked the couch in anger. "Okay, ten minutes it is, then," I said calmly. "Get your little bottoms in the corner now, if you want to avoid a session with Senor Rump Roast."
Miguel put on a furious mask, and his little brother joined him. As they headed over to the corner, Carlos looked over his shoulder with a reproachful look and said, "You're mean!"
I chuckled. "Nope, I'm not mean. A mean babysitter would stick around to watch you get your little behinds spanked."
"Miss Janie does," Carlos mumbled. His brother elbowed him and hissed, "Shut up!" Obviously, the thought of going bottoms-up in front of the new babysitter was anathema to the ten-year-old. I grinned. So "Miss Janie" was the "mean babysitter" who stuck around to watch the boys get spanked at the end of the evening. I was going to have to give her grief over that!
They stood fairly quietly for about one minute. Of course, I had no intention of keeping them there for a full ten minutes; I knew that five would be more than enough. It would feel like a half-hour to the little guys! As they began to fidget, I warned, "You need to stand still in time-out, or it doesn't count." Miguel actually kicked the wall and dropped his hands from his head! I couldn't believe it; in my family, acting up like that in the corner was a sure ticket to what my dad euphemistically referred to as a "carpet inspection."
"Hmm... looks like someone does need an attitude adjustment," I said, stretching out on the sofa with my feet up. Just then, I heard a car pull up and saw the headlights. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez were home early! I had hoped to handle things myself and gotten the boys to bed without incident, but it looked like that wasn't happening.
"Miss Clarita! Please let us go upstairs!" Carlos begged.
"Sorry, bud," I replied. You haven't finished your corner time."
"But... but..." Miguel sputtered, his bravado gone in a flash.
"No buts," I said, then couldn't help but add something I'd often heard growing up: "Except your butts, going over your dad's knee."
Part Two
The front door opened, and in walked a relaxed, well-fed mom and dad. Unfortunately, their happy expressions changed in a heartbeat at the sight of their pajama-clad sons in the corner. I wondered if I'd made a bad judgment call. Maybe I should have let them escape up the stairs when I'd seen the car approach. But it seemed dishonest, and I didn't want to start my babysitting career on a dishonest note.
"Trouble?" asked Mr. Hernandez, glancing at his sons, then back at me.
"Not really, Sir," I replied. "Everything was going great; we just hit a little hiccup at bedtime."
"I see. And what was the nature of the 'hiccup?'"
"Well, I promised the boys I'd tell you guys the truth about whether they obeyed me or not..."
"Yes? And they didn't?" asked Mrs. Hernandez. She seemed more embarrassed at finding her sons in time-out than anything else.
"Well, I told them to come downstairs after they'd changed into pjs and brushed their teeth, but they decided to fire up the PlayStation instead."
"Boys! Get over here!" Mr. Hernandez commanded.
They walked over like little condemned prisoners, their heads hanging low. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez gave them the third degree and asked if they remembered what they'd said would happen if they didn't obey me. Suddenly the lecture and the boys' almost inevitable spanking felt way out of proportion to the offense. I came to their aid as best I could.
"They really did behave great all night before that," I said. "They earned their ice cream and everything. And they've already served their corner time." The boys looked at me with the cautiously beaming faces of the potentially-pardoned.
"Yes, dear, and it's very sweet of you to stick up for them," said Mrs. Hernandez. "But we always keep our promises, don't we boys?"
Their faces fell again. "Yes, Mom," they said in pitiful unison.
"Very well, then." She went to the wall and took "Senor Rump Roast" off the hook. "Miss Clarita, you were the one they disobeyed, so you're more than welcome to stay for their correction."
I saw the panicked look in the boys' eyes (in Miguel's in particular), and thought about how awful it would have been if someone from outside the family had ever witnessed one of myspankings. I made my decision in a heartbeat.
"That's okay, Mrs. Hernandez. I'm sure the boys can learn just as well without an audience." I picked up my purse and moved toward the door. When I looked back, Carlos and Miguel were regarding me with beatific expressions usually reserved for patron saints and the Virgin Mary. It was at that moment, I realize now, that I became their favorite babysitter.
"Very well, dear, if you're sure," Mrs. Hernandez said.
"Yes, Ma'am, I am. I hope I get to babysit for your boys again; they're a lot of fun."
She walked with me to the door, I slipped into my sandals, and she paid me. She then gave me a hug and said, "I hope you can sit for us again, too, dear. I know they can be a handful, but they're good boys."
"Absolutely! I hope they don't get their bottoms roasted too bad."
I turned to look at my two charges. Little Carlos' eyes were brimming with tears, and it nearly broke my 15-year-old heart. His brother, hanging onto his macho self-image to the last, was holding it together admirably. I got down on my haunches and opened my arms, saying, "Come here, you guys!"
They both scurried over to me, and I caught them both in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Miss Clarita!" little Carlos said earnestly, hugging me for all he was worth. "I didn't mean to call you mean. You're nice!"
"Aww, don't worry about it, little guy!" I said, and planted a little kiss on his forehead. I turned to Miguel, and it was clear there was an inward battle going on inside his head. He wanted to remain stoic, but he also wanted in on the Clarita love! I made the decision for him: I kissed his forehead and said, "Sorry about the spanking, Miguel. I've had them myself, and I know they're no fun."
That did it. His eyes got moist, and he hugged me tight. "I'm sorry I d-disobeyed you, Miss Clarita."
"That's okay, I know you'll do better next time," I replied, tousling his hair.
I left with a spring in my step, and moments later, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of light wood making contact with bare flesh. And the cries and pitiful sounds that inevitably accompanied same. I winced, remembering my last spanking: it had been just a year before, and it had been a pants-down, over-the-knee, hairbrush-on-the-bare-bottom affair. It had been embarrassing enough getting it like that in front of my brother and sister; I couldn't even imagine having an audience! Suddenly, I didn't just want to rib Janie for being "the mean babysitter;" I wanted to take her to task for it!
The next morning was beautiful, a warm, early-summer day without a cloud in the sky. I was sitting on our front porch drinking lemonade in my usual summer outfit of halter top, cut-off jeans and bare feet. I saw the Hernandez boys walking their bikes down the sidewalk toward my house. They seemed to be coming toward me, so I stood and greeted them.
"Hey, guys, you want some lemonade?"
"Sure!" said Carlos with enthusiasm.
"You too, Miguel?"
"Yes, please." What a sweet little gentleman!
"I'll be right back." I went inside, and less than a minute later, I emerged holding two plastic cups of lemonade with plenty of ice. I handed them over, and the little guys received them with grateful smiles. Even though I'd established myself as the "nice" babysitter, I had to rib them a little about what happened the night before.
"So, I guess you guys are gonna obey me from now on, huh?"
"Yes, Miss Clarita," said Miguel, blushing and looking down.
"We got our butts tanned," Carlos volunteered, rubbing his behind with his free hand. Oh my God, I thought, could they possibly be any cuter?
"Yeah, well, from now on just listen to me, and you'll be able to sit without a pillow!" I laughed. They grinned good-naturedly, and I found it delightful that an eight- and ten-year-old could laugh at themselves when their own butts were sore. "Yes, Ma'am," Miguel said, smiling shyly.
"So, are you gonna babysit for us some more?" Carlos asked, slurping his lemonade noisily.
"Sure, if your mom and dad want me to."
"They do!" he said right away. "They think you're nice. And reponsable."
I laughed. "Do you mean, 'responsible?'"
"Yeah, that."
"Alright, then! Next time maybe we'll have more time and you can show me your favorite PlayStation games."
That got them going. For the next several minutes, the regaled me with tales of their exploits in video game land. It was awfully cute.
When they finally took off, I noticed them both wince slightly as they sat on their bicycle seats. I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Looks like you guys could use some pillows for your bike seats, too," I called after them. They pedaled away, looking back at me with blushing grins. I was now fully ensconced as the Hernandez boys' favorite babysitter.
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