BABYSITTING THE NIBLINGS

I wrote a whole post earlier and then deleted it because it failed the THINK test. It’s good, the THINK test. You have to ask yourself whether what you’re writing is True, Helpful, Inspiring, Necessary and Kind. If it fails, if you can say that it’s the opposite of at least one of those things, it’s best not to write it.

I appreciate little guardrails like this. My own thoughtlessness leads me astray sometimes and it’s good to have a system that keeps you on track when you can’t manage it. These systems are the rumble strips, the things which shake us awake as we drift off at the wheel. Without them, danger waits for us at the side of the road.

Speaking of danger, I’m babysitting the niblings tonight. It's a bit like lion-taming; you walk in with utter confidence and assert your authority from the outset - otherwise, you're history. Actually, as I sat cross-legged on my sister’s carpet, running an Uncle Matthew Quiz, I realised that this was the closest I’d come to managing a primary school class in a while, albeit a class of just three. It reminded me of ten years ago, when I was running Year 4 keyboard lessons.

“Mercedes, come away from the window. Right, now then Jacob, no that’s a rainstick, not a grenade launcher. Put it down. Page 4 please. Mercedes, I said come away from that window. No, we can’t use the DJ button. Hot Cross Buns please - E, D, C, E, D, C, E, E, E, E…. Mercedes! No Jacob, put that down...”

“D.D.D…DJ!”

It doesn’t feel like ten years ago, all that. In a lot of ways it was the most fun job I’d ever had. In the end though the piano students’ parents (the ones who really cared about it) all decided I wasn’t taking them quickly enough through the lessons and collectively pulled their children out, opting for what they described in their letters as ‘a proper teacher’.

I thought I’d fare OK with a quiz tonight.

“Where does pizza come from?”
“Iceland!”
“Nope… next qu…”
“No! No, it does! That’s where we get it from!”
“No but I mean, which country…”
“It does Uncle Matthew - Iceland is a country…”
“Yes but…”

They're all asleep now, the niblings. I read two stories - something called Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which is an American pre-teen book with half-an-eye on the nostalgia of parents, and a Lego movie counting book, which is sneakily teaching my nephew maths without him realising it. Odds and evens tonight.

Then, under their reversible soldier duvets they went, out came a couple of prayers for just about everyone that they know (delaying tactics) and then pop went the lights and their day came to an end.

So it is that I'm in a living room, cluttered with stuff. A clock ticks and my stomach rumbles. I'm not sure I could live in a room with so much stuff and so little noise - the other way round would be much better, don't you think?