I have been staying with these two boys this week, as a favour to their mother while she and her husband are in Mexico. I babysat alot of kids when i was young(er), and these two are from hell. Well, at least one is. His name is D****, and his older brother's name is D*****. Lets call them Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, respectively. T-Dee is 13, and T-Dum is 15, which in my opinion is old enough to be left on your own for a week. Surely, the most they need is supper in the evenings, and someone to make sure the doors are locked at night...but not these two. Not only do they require one fried egg each morning (made by moi), but T-Dee will also complain to his mother (within earshot of me) when one morning i decide to let them try for themselves. After all, my father's favourite saying is: Give a man a fish, and he eats for a meal. Teach a man to fish, and he eats for a lifetime. While this is not perfect (eww, fish forever? No thanks) there is much to be said for the general gist of it all. They have other awful meal habits that must be indulged, (like plastic plates and cups every time, and peculiarly sliced fruit for one and a precisely numbered about of cherry tomatoes for the other), and have the
(photo's courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/31174045@N07/) independence of an 8 year old, but it's the silence that bothers me the most.
Yes, i said it, it's the silence. The house is like a frozen tomb. The boys will not talk! I try my best to drag conversation out of them, and usually i am very good at that, but these two answer in single word sentences, and then fall silent again. When they talk to themselves (very, very rarely) it is in whispers, in another room from me. In fact, last night i decided to see if we could go an entire meal without a word, and we did. That was the last straw. Even before washing the dishes, i called my sister D, my brother J, and A (the beautiful girl in the checked dress above) who happened to be at our house too. All 3 of them came marching over armed with guitars and sheet music, and we proceeded to fill every cold and empty nook and cranny of that house with noise, laughter, music, and singing. The boys cowered in their bedroom. For at least an evening, that house turned into a proper home, with real children making real noise. I think thats what bothers me the most about T-Dee and T-Dum...they arent real. They seem lacking in some vital, human element, and are almost 2-D, like book characters cut out and pasted on a scene.
Ahhh, i am so glad that tonight is my last night there. Here is A's blog. She is my fellow lookbook member wannabe.