The Extra Kid

Newsletter 2023-08-14

My kids have friends. That’s a problem. My original life plan was to raise antisocial children who never wanted to go anywhere or do anything with anyone. Kids are a lot easier to manage if they stay in one spot by themselves. Then again, I also thought I would have four boys, so you can see how much the universe cares about my intentions for anything. I’m incredibly lucky to have four vivacious, outgoing daughters, but in a much more minor but still very real way, it’s a pain in the butt. (Trust me, I know something about that.) Most of my life is spent trying to keep up with their very active social calendars. This weekend proved I can’t handle the job. My girls should fire me and hire a real executive assistant/professional chauffeur. The number of applicants might be limited by the starting (and ending) salary of zero dollars per year, as well as the required shifts of infinity hours per week. Then again, my kids could always lie. It’s not like employers are fully honest in their job listings. If they were, under the description of duties, each one would say, “This job sucks. Run.” For my daughters’ employee search, they could write “salary negotiable” and leave out the part where it’s negotiable down to nothing and also you have to pay for everything they do. Sign me up.

Now that school has started, it’s sleepover season again. My squad’s top priority is to spend the night anywhere but their own rooms. When kids are leaving my house, I’m all for it. I love being down a minion or two for part of the weekend. Unfortunately, the girls who are left behind always make up for the absence of a sibling by being louder and wilder. Our house has a minimum chaos level that must be maintained at all costs. Usually, it’s the oldest girls who go out. My thirteen-year-old, Betsy, would never sleep here again if she could help it. The only place cooler than home is literally anywhere else. Our eleven-year-old, Mae, gets pulled away a fair amount, too. Sometimes, though, the girls will ask if their friends can spend the night here, which always makes me scramble. I’d love to have extra children in the house, but I’m in the middle of a project. I need to finish taking down the wallpaper in the front room, a task I’m sure I’ll get to sometime this century. Any job worth doing is worth leaving part way done so you can use it as an excuse until the end of time.

This weekend was the first time Lucy got in on the act. At nine, she’s finally reached the age where other parents are willing to put her up for the night. Children have to be old enough to be safely ignored for hours at a time before other moms and dads can take on that risk. The most important step before hosting someone else’s offspring is checking what your homeowners insurance will cover. My policy has exceptions for arson and jousting accidents. That’s why there are no matches or medieval lances in the house.

Lucy texted our family thread Friday to ask if she could walk to the library with her friend. I’d heard that friend’s name for the first time just the day before. Scratch that. In 2023, there are a grand total of six names shared by every grade school girl in the country. I’d heard this name thousands of times before, but only once in reference to this particular friend. Lucy made her library trip request when I was on the carpool leg of my drive home from work. My wife Lola and I are still down to one vehicle. Our vans were parked next to each other in May when the heavens opened up and dumped out their ice cube trays. I guess they decided they were never going to get around to making frozen margaritas after all. My van sustained massive damage, even if most of the dents were only visible in exactly the right light. Lola’s van appears to be unharmed, although we’re still going to get it checked out after we get my van back just in case. I’m not sure why there was such disparity in the levels of destruction. Each van is from a different manufacturer, so maybe one uses cheap sheet metal and the other builds with the material left over from making tanks. Either that or God really wanted to smite my van in particular. Whatever the cause, my vehicle sustained what is now estimated to be $11,000 in damage. It needed a new hood and roof, which is why it’s been in the shop for nearly two weeks. Lola and I have been carpooling to our respective jobs for half of that time. (For the first week, I was able to work from home thanks to my well-timed butt wound.) When Lucy texted us about going to the library with her friend, I was waiting in the parking lot of Lola’s lab while she finished up whatever sciencey thing she does for a living. After sixteen years of marriage, it’s too late for me to ask what that is without it being awkward. More importantly, at that moment, neither of us was anywhere near the house. I told Lucy to stay put until we got back. We’d be there in less than half an hour.

A bigger question was why Lucy was hanging out with her friend at all. Our girls aren’t supposed to leave the house when we’re not there. Then again, there’s always an exception. If I’m out of the house but nearby, like at the grocery store or the gym, I give them some leeway. It also depends on the location of the other kid. I’ll almost always let my girls cross the street to play outside with the children a few houses away. I feel more comfortable letting my crew interact with neighborhood kids since I’m not in charge of those other minors. If I can see your house from my porch, your parents are the ones who should be watching you outside, not me. The sidewalk at the corner is neutral ground for lawsuit purposes. Lucy had mentioned meeting up with this kid before at a parking lot near our house, so I assumed she lived within a few doors of us. You’d think I’d know by now that I should never assume anything—unless it’s the worst. Then those assumptions are right a hundred percent of the time.

The day prior, I had told Lucy she could meet that friend in the parking lot next door. Lucy took that as blanket permission to meet up with this friend at any time, which it probably would have been if she were actually a nearby neighbor. That wasn’t the case at all. As Lola and I pulled up in front of our house, a woman we didn’t know put a kid in her truck and drove away. I checked with Lucy, and sure enough, that was her friend. She didn’t live on our street or even near it. She was from the other side of town. Our suburb isn’t that big, but the other girl still lived half a mile away, which is definitely farther than her own parents could see, even with superpower mom eyes. Technically, that extra kid was my responsibility, even though I wasn’t in the same zip code. The closest thing I had to an adult on the scene was Mae, who, again, is eleven. Betsy had walked to her friend’s house to do math homework—on a Friday. That was either extremely diligent or incredibly suspicious. Betsy had texted to ask for permission first, and I chose to let her go, despite my rule about the kids staying inside when I’m out of town. When I was her age, I wandered from one side to the other of a much larger city with no cell phone. Then again, my parents had twice as many kids, so it wasn’t as big of a deal if I got abducted or eaten by a wolf. I figured my eleven-year-old could hold down the fort for less than an hour until I was back. Then Lucy invited over a  kid I don’t know and the entire system broke down.

Photo by Matt Donders on Unsplash

In Mae’s defense, I’ve never clearly defined her authority when we’re not home. Babysitting is usually Betsy’s job, and her powers are generally limited to “keep everyone alive.” Mae knew that she couldn’t let somebody else’s kid into our house when I was gone, but the kid’s mom had dropped her child off and driven away, so Mae couldn’t exactly send her home, either. Mae’s compromise was to make Lucy and her friend play on our front porch, which was the worst of both worlds. We would still be liable for everything that happened, but the girls were also exposed to all the dangers of the great outdoors. There are strange people and large mythical birds to worry about. Eagles big enough to rescue dwarves from goblins could easily snag a child as an afternoon snack. Lucy and her friend ended up sitting on the porch and watching YouTube on Lucy’s phone for an hour until the other girl’s mom came back and picked her up. Lola and I were very confused and more than a little irritated when we walked into our house as the girl and her mom disappeared. Lucy had a lot of explaining to do.

She also had an invitation. She said that her friend had asked her to come over to spend the night. I had my doubts that a parent was attached to that offer. I asked Lucy to get her friend’s mom’s phone number so I could get to the bottom of it. Lucy wasn’t really in trouble from the earlier incident. No one died, and in most states, it’s not a crime to briefly watch YouTube on someone’s porch. Besides, as a parent, all things are ultimately my fault. If I had been more diligently suspicious from the start, I could have stopped the situation from occurring. Lucy was extremely excited about the potential for a sleepover. In her nine years of life, she had seen her older sisters leave for many without ever being invited to one herself. I called her friend’s mom. As the phone rang, I realized that was a mistake. No one answers calls from unknown numbers. Also, what kind of weirdo calls instead of texting? I instantly raised every possible red flag. To the surprise of no one, the other mom didn’t answer.

A few minutes later, the other mom texted me back asking who I was and what I wanted. I tried to explain the situation in the least alarming way possible. I failed to defuse the tension. The other mom said Lucy could come over for a sleepover, but first, she wanted to meet her parents. Both of us. I guess her fear was that, after the earlier weirdness, we would send the respectable parent while hiding the questionable one, who could be the leader of a biker gang or possibly a polar bear. Anything goes in Indiana these days. The sudden caution seemed out of place because, earlier that afternoon, she had dropped off her kid at our house without checking to see if an adult was home. Perhaps lessons had been learned on all sides. Trust but verify was now the order of the day.

Lola and I drove over and met the other mom. She was impossibly young. Now that I’m pushing forty, anyone in their twenties looks like a child to me. We apologized for the earlier confusion, and all was forgiven, which was important because, even when I don’t understand what’s going on, I’m to blame. Lucy stayed for her first sleepover and had entirely too much fun. The next morning, the other mom asked if her kid could spend the night at our house. That woman might have been young, but this wasn’t her first rodeo. After everything that happened, I had no choice but to say yes. Lucy ended up with not one sleepover, but two this weekend, all because she went rogue and invited her friend over in the first place. It’s always better to ask for forgiveness than permission. My kids are learning all the wrong lessons at my house. Maybe they should sleep at somebody else’s.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James