Who needs hazardous duty pay?

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‘Not me. I got a very cool reward.’

You may have heard that it’s been very hot this summer. Heck, you may have experienced this heat wave yourself.

As luck would have it, I got to sample record temperatures in the Midwest last weekend, and then I got to sweat it out all over again a few days later when the heat dome moved on to the East Coast.

When last I posted — with a story called “In Case You Didn’t Know It Already, I Love Weddings” — I had been asked to meet The Kids in St. Louis to babysit Mr. Baby while they went to a wedding. (I was telling someone about this, and she asked, “Who’s wedding is it?” “Heck if I know,” I replied. “I don’t get to go to the wedding. I’m going to St. Louis so they can go to the wedding.”)

The heat wave didn’t stop us from visiting the Gateway Arch. (Note, however, that we are hiding in a patch of shade)

Me? I didn’t pack anything I could have worn to a wedding even if I had been asked. You know, like, if they were lacking an older woman to fill a table. Nope, my duffel held just a bunch of spit-proof duds that I could crawl around a floor in. I did take a tuxedo shirt, since the SIL doesn’t own one. Plus cufflinks. Oh, and some Laduree macarons. The Kids love them (Laduree macarons, not cufflinks), so I always make sure to score a box before I travel to see them. They don’t take up much room, and I figure I’ll get asked back for my treats even if my child-minding skills prove a tad rusty.

Speaking of “rusty,” my instincts did kick right in. I didn’t have to remember to sway gently with Mr. Baby on my shoulder. I just did it. And that whispering-in-the-ear thing? Came right back. As did good ole tuneless humming and dancing around the room. Oh — and coaching:

What did prove rusty were my joints. The afore-mentioned crawling around on the floor is not for the faint of heart nor stiff of limb. Neither is the bending-over-the-Pack ‘n Play-to-lift-or-settle-the-baby. (Speaking of Pack ‘n Play, why isn’t my name Mrs. Graco? Everybody I know who knows a baby has a Graco Pack ‘n Play, including me. The Kids have at least two, plus there’s the one we bought to put in the Air BnB. Printing money, that lucky Mrs. Graco must be.)

The Pack ‘n Play that lives at my house; “changing table” (ie “twin bed”) in foreground

I did get to go to a wedding-related event on Sunday morning — an event not requiring festive attire. This was an outdoor brunch where you could chat and/or play pickleball. (Guess which I opted for?) One lovely young wedding guest (whose parents were babysitting her daughter back home) asked what I found most different about watching a baby now as opposed to Way Back When.

Lovely young wedding guest’s husband, who demonstrated remarkable baby-comforting skills. Because he is also a Dad or maybe because he looks a lot like the SIL

“The gear,” I promptly replied. “All that stuff!” As I wrote in “It’s a Good Thing This Baby is So Adorable,” babies these days seem to require so much gear. Or, at least their parents do. I mean, this baby has a white noise machine. And as for the baby monitor? I demonstrated the one I used: I cupped my hand to my ear while miming peeking around a bedroom door.

To sum up, my babysitting gig was utterly satisfying as well as utterly exhausting. But, unlike those weenie British foreign service employees back in the day who got posted to St. Louis, I did not get — or even request — hazardous duty pay. I earned enough smiles to last me all summer — or until the next time my skills are required. Which I hope will be soon, or he won’t need my coaching anymore:

Amagansett, New York. July 2025

Earning my stripes

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‘My hot date with Yayoi Kusama’

“Wow, you sure do like stripes,” commented The Child’s Friend Alexandra, spying me in my pjs one summer morning.

Alexandra, who is now fast on track to be a neurosurgeon, was one of a gaggle of girls gracing our Amagansett Abode a few years ago during one of our sparkly celebrations of the 4th of July. (A much-missed summer tradition of ours you can read about in “Stars in Stripes” and “Three Cheers for the Red, White, and Oh-So-Blue.”)

The Child and I rocking our respective stripes on a 4th of July Weekend a few years ago

It should be noted that Alexandra, during the course of that particular weekend, had already seen me in striped tee shirts, striped tanks, and probably a striped bathing suit as well.

Three Henry Girls live it up on the beach. I’m the one in the stripes, natch

I guess I would have made a good convict. An economical one, anyway, since I could have furnished my own prison wardrobe. That is, if my place of incarceration had gone with the classic striped jumpsuit instead of the neon orange one.

Another year, another striped shirt. Fun fact: I happen to be wearing this shirt right this very minute. I’d take a selfie, but the poor shirt is in only-worn-when-no-one-else-is-here condition

But what’s all this got to do with Yayoi Kusama? In fact, you may be asking, “Who the heck is Yayoi Kusama?” Well. Kusama is a Japanese artist who does all kinds of what I call poppy-powy stuff like sculpture and painting and fashion — she even wraps trees in dotted fabric. Continue reading