Snakes and Snails and Puppydog Tails....give me a break!

Three boys. Was I crazy?! Well, once you're already a thousand miles away from home and sleeping in a strange bed, it's sort of too late to reconsider. Not that I did, because I was ready for anything. Bring on all the Pokemon and Zelda you got! I mean, I can maneuver a cardboard sword better than the any of them!

Well, I was not prepared for Tristan. Not in a negative way, but that fiery, imaginative little 4-year-old stole my heart...and kept me on my toes! I wish I had written down every cute, impressive, and unbelievable comment that boy spouted that summer of 2002. This blog would write itself, draw millions of readers, and keep them in stitches for years!

Ok, well maybe not that extreme.

To say Tristan was one-of-a-kind is too cliched a descriptive phrase for him. Not only did he come up with the most outrageous thoughts and ideas, by jove, he believed them!

A few days into my Boston nanny adventures, Tristan found a blue, ripped up, ratty Walmart bag on the street. Immediately he insisted it was his "ghost".

We had planned on a relaxing couple hours at the park that afternoon. Tristan would not leave Ghost at home. He would get far too "lonely" and "sad". Well, ok.

Once at the park, I began to push Tristan on the swings. Before I could let go of the chain Tristan stated that Ghost would also like me to push "him" in the swing next to us.

Yeah.

Everything was peaches until a man and his daughter arrived on the scene. She wanted to sit on the swing our Mr. Ghost was having such a wonderful time riding in. How dare she? You just don't swipe somebody off the swing before their turn is up. Wait your turn, Pigtails!

How was I to break this to her and her sensible daddy?

Before I could figure out what to say, the unthinkable happened. The bad man slowed the swing, picked up the shopping bag (garbage, in his mind), and preceded to the - dun dun duuuuuun - trash can.

By this time Tristan had caught a glimpse of Mr. Ghost's jagged fingers calling for him to save him, as his wispy blue body floated down into the black hole barrel of death.

I tell ya, I have yet to see "bloody murder" even remotely similar to the terror I witnessed in that child's countenance that day.

"He's kil-ling hiiiiiiim!" Just ten times worse than that.

Utter joy and happiness to downright horror and despair in half a second flat.

I'd like to say I was a good nanny. A sacrificial nanny, even. If it took every ounce of humility in my being, I was going to keep a child smiling.

So I did it.

I approached the trash can. "Um....excuse me, sir?"

A look of surprise crossed the the man's face.

"That's, um, actually my charge's, um...ghost."

He squinted his eyes at me in confusion, and then disgust, as if he would like to report me to Child Protective Services for allowing an innocent child to play with such an unsanitary and dangerous object as a dirty plastic bag.

Meanwhile, Tristan was still sitting in the swing, pathetically bawling his head off.

"Oh, and, um, it wasn't finished riding the swing..."

The things I do for sanity! And anyway, what business has a grown man - a father, no less - throwing away a child's playtoy! Some people!