Babysitting, Anyone?

Every year before we leave for camp, we celebrate with a party for the student worship team/ band. These teenagers are talented musicians that pour their hearts and lives into glorifying Christ with their gifts. Much is asked and expected of them throughout the year and before camp kicks off is a great time to gather and show appreciation, as well as motivate, encourage and challenge them to continue to serve wholeheartedly.

It’s such a fun night and Bonnie (my dear friend and the student programming pastor’s wife) and I have brought Park and Cooper every year they have been alive. The first party they attended, they crawled around and helped themselves up the stairs every five minutes. We spent most of our time corralling them, but it was still somewhat manageable and we were glad to get to be apart of the celebration.

We vaguely discussed getting babysitters for the next year’s party, but by the time the summer rolled around, we brought them once again. At this point, they were nearing two and we spent most of the party saving their lives. The details of me jumping into the pool fully clothed to spare Park from drowning after he flung himself into deep water is something I’ve just tried to block out.

Did I mention it wasn’t even a pool party?

And Bonnie did an equally good job of blocking out the fact that Cooper had a horrible blowout on the patio moments after we managed to lock ourselves out of the house without a diaper bag in 100% Texas heat.

Thank goodness for that little dip in the pool that kept me cool.

Oblivious to the drama we were partaking in outside, our husbands were inside preaching the messages of their lives. Engrossed in prayer with students, no one noticed that we were missing for the better part of 2 hours.

That night, while trapped outside, Bonnie and I discussed in depth our babysitting plans for the following year’s party. We even debated calling to book someone a year in advance. But, apparently all that “blocking it out” business gave us temporary amnesia when the time came around for this year’s party.

Just like two women begging for punishment, we showed up again, children in hand. And this year we even threw in Bonnie’s new addition, 4 month old Maddox, just in case our near three-year-olds were not enough to send us over the edge.

Coming to battle prepared, I came armed with dozens of toys in hand. Which was a nice thought, except who needs toys when there are three different sets of stairs to hurl yourselves off of? And stools to spin on? And candles to stick your hands in? And water bottles to pour over each other's heads?

What can I say? Bonnie and I are just crazy like that.

Eventually we took our disruptive wild banshees to the soundproof media room and watched them parade around while doing handstands and leapfrog to the tunes of Lion King, which was playing on the big screen.

About that time, I looked at Bonnie and she looked at me and we couldn’t help but laugh at how we had set ourselves up for this.

“I need you to promise me something,” she said. ”“Next year,” she begged, “If I suggest we bring the boys, for the love of all things good, JUST SLAP ME, ALREADY!!”

Agreed. A band party that we actually can sit through and enjoy without hurling ourselves into a pool?

Now, that is just music to my ears.