Isn't it funny how when you're trying so hard to be quiet, every little thing makes extra noise? From where I'm typing right now, the sound is bouncing across the computer area which looks, balcony-like, onto the floor below. And each keystroke, I'm sure, is ricocheting across walls and hardwood floors to ears of the two sleeping cherubs I'm babysitting. While part of me is enjoying the sweet silence of an empty house and late-night babysitting job, most of me is just waiting for some sound announcing that Soren, the 2-year old, has woken up.

Which would not be good.

Don't get me wrong, Soren is a pretty awesome little guy. He's athletic, sturdy, and bounces back from things really well. I've watched his vocabulary balloon in the 10 months I've been watching him. He reminds me so much of Peter a little more grown up. (A week ago, when I was watching both him and Peter play outside in the sprinkler, they each done what little guys do when wet and stripped down. There was no telling the naked towheads apart--too cute!) But anyone awake in the middle of the night without Mom around is bound to be grumpy.

--OHMYGAWSH! The phone just rang, easily the loudest sound of the last three hours by at least 20 decibels. But I'm not hearing anyone; they must still be asleep. (Breathe, Lydia.)---

The other guy asleep in that room is Sidney, aspiring pilot, astronaut, and doctor. Extremely smart and ambitious, this bespectacled seven-year-old keeps me on my toes. Even in my own age group I've rarely been lucky enough to find guys I have to work so hard to stay one step ahead of. Lately we've been trying to come up with an airplane design that doesn't use jet fuel, which his mom won't give him for some reason. Steam power is out. Diet Coke and Mentos? We'll see.

I'm learning that. unlike Big-sistering (which is when my inner Catherine the Great unleashes herself and forces her minions to clean the house, study hard and mostly just Be Silent), Babysitting is a delicate balance of creativity, diplomacy, and mainly the ability to create a diversion just before things get rough. (Right as child one is about to clobber child two, you shout "Oh look! An Eagle!")

And babysitting is the only time I'll change diapers. Some things only happen if a) you can't force another sibling into doing it, or b) you're getting paid.

The following definition of Klompen dancing,--the anti-sport in which Laura and Jake were involved during the Holland Days festival in this weekend-- is borrowed from www.everything2.com.

Klompen Dance

The whole concept of “klompen dance" is a tourist trap. It can only be spotted in the wild when a critical number American or Japanese tourists have amassed. The dancers wear wooden, hence the name. The music is stupid, just like the audience. It is usually performed in the Netherlands, especially at places which are visited frequently by foreign tourists, like the island of Marken Amsterdam.

Or Lynden, WA, the most conceited, United Reformed, faux-Dutch town anywhere. 9 hours there last Saturday was pretty much torture. That being said, Laura and Jake can perform their little folk dances quite well, and, more importantly, have made it to the front page of some section of the newspaper for the 3rd consecutive year.