When Three Year Olds Attack


One of my friends has gotten it into her head that she can leave me unsupervised with her three year old daughter. I think the kid is freaking amazing and only tolerate these shenanigans because my friend repays me in Sephora bags full of goodies and because the kid can wipe her own ass. The kid calls me “Annie Aay” because she can’t say “Auntie Rachael” and she is a tiny, blond haired and blue eyed angel that I love as much as I can love another person’s loin fruit. Today my friend needed an emergency baby sitter because she and her baby-daddy had to run a lot of errands that would suck for a three year old to tag along for. In her weird habit, she called me because the kid loves me and I can be paid off in eyeshadow and lip venom.

Now, if you read me you know that I’m probably not the best option for these sorts of things. If you know me, you know that leaving me alone with your child is probably not the best of ideas because I’m more kid than adult as well. However, my friend trusts me and I hate to betray that trust so I do my best to be a good baby-sitter and not let her child maim or amputate herself on my watch.

So anyway! Today I went to my friends house and was greeted with hugs and kisses from the kid because she thinks I’m awesome (she’s brilliant, by the way) and was informed that she had a play-date that she was unwilling to give up. Ok, whatever, I’ve taken her to play dates before and I kinda know the moms from past play-dates. I don’t like two of them because they’re haughty moms who think that being mothers makes them superior to lowly creatures like me who refuse to use their birth canals as birth canals even though their children are total shitbirds. The other three are about the most awesome women that you could ever meet. They always have awesome snacks and are fun to talk to because I can say anything that I want without judgement because I don’t judge them when they show up to a play-date and say their kid is being an asshole that particular day.

Whatever, we all have bad days. I happen to think their kids are pretty cool cats as far as children go and nothing is better than going to a playground and hanging out with women who love to gown down slides as much as I do.

So today my friends baby-daddy let me have his Jeep for the day to take his kid to her play-date. Did I mention that his Jeep has a banging sound system? I mean this baby goes BOOM and it goes BOOM hard. When he’s got this thing going full blast you can hear him 5 minuets before you actually see him and it is awesome. Oh and the three year old has a CD in said banging Jeep that she loves to listen to and sing along to. It’s one of those CD’s where the kids sing Top 40’s songs and is about the most annoying thing ever because it’s kid’s who can’t sing belting out songs that are so inappropriate for them to sing like “I Kissed a Girl” and songs by the Pussy Cat Dolls and even that “Party Like a Rock Star”.


We totally rolled up on the playground with this banging out of the Jeep.

Naturally the haughty moms judged me because I showed up 15 minuets late for the play-date because the kid and I stopped for Booster Juice and then I potentially damaged the child because I let her listen to loud music. Apparently that’s not good for their growth potential or chi or some other naturalistic crap these moms like to spew while they walk around in LuLu Lemon work out pants with Coach purses slung over their shoulders. Oh and did I mention that these women were judging me for having fun with the kid while their kids are total shitbirds?

Whatever, I had a great childhood and these women are just jealous because I can rock out to a kids version of “Party Like a Rock Star” and make it look damn good. Oh and emphasis on the fact that their kids are demon spawn because this is how I foreshadow the coming events.

The kids were running all over the playground with their moms slowly behind while I climbed all over everything because playgrounds are awesome. The haughty moms were judging me, the cool moms were telling jokes and I was getting ready to go down a slide with the three year old because slides are awesome. She insists she can go down on her own so I took the fireman/stripper pole thing down and waiter for her patiently at the bottom of the slide. She came down, I caught her and she was immediately followed by one of the demon spawn who looks like Hitler’s love child who I also caught because his mom was texting on her phone. The kids decide that they want to do it again so they grab hands and run around to the stairs to climb back up and I wait by the slide to catch them.

I’m watching them and thinking Hitler’s love child seems to be having a good day today because he’s behaving and smiling instead of screaming like a bat out of Hell like he normally does. I am pleased by this and pretend it is my calming presence that has him acting like a decent human being when all of a sudden I see him lightly push the three year because she was trying to get up the stairs first. So I yelled “Hey! Be nice and share!” thinking this was a good thing to yell, but started to walk towards the kids to make sure they made it up the stairs without incident when…

Hitler’s love child open-palmed slapped the three year old on her chest. Hard. I mean it was hard enough that I heard a distinctive slapping noise as he hit her and the world froze. My heart stopped because my precious charge had gotten hit and I wasn’t sure how she would handle it. She looked like she was in shock over being hit. The moms were frozen as they waited for Hitler’s mom to do something, but she was frozen too. Her and I made quick eye contact as I started to run over to the kids to comfort my charge when the little blonde that I love tackled Hitler to the ground and beat the tar out of him. I mean her little fists were flying as she lay on top of him swinging and kicking and making contact with him in anyway she could.

I mean she had this kid pinned to the ground and was giving him the beat down to end all beat downs.

Or at least that’s what she was doing until I scooped her up and ran with her to the other side of the park where we sat down on a swing and she immediately began to cry. She told me it hurt when he hit her and that he hurt her feelings. She looked up at me as she bawled her baby blue eyes out and yelled “I DON’T LIKE BEING HIT!” and promptly buried her face in my neck to sob her little broken heart out while screaming in pain over the slap she’d gotten. This was happening while on the other side of the playground Hitler’s mom was consoling her future wife beater and the other moms looked on in shock.

After a minuet one of the cool moms brought both me and my kid organic grape juice boxes and tissue paper made from recycled tissue paper and asked if we were ok. While the kid hiccuped and cried into her juice box while slowly sipping it I looked at the mom and mouthed at her “WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NOW?” and she mouthed back “TALK TO HER ABOUT IT. HITTING IS BAD.” Then she quietly left me to try and explain to the kid that hitting is bad even if it’s in self defense and that if she had done this as a teen or adult that Hitler would go to jail for assault and she could probably sue him for some money, but in our playground world it was never right to hit someone else.

The conversation went like this:

Me: Sweetie, you know it’s not nice to hit right?
Her: But he hurt me first!
Me: Yes, but we’re not playing shot for shot today.
Me: I know, lovie, but hitting is never right.
Her: *hiccup*
Me: You know that you hurt your friend right?
Her: *sniffle* Yes.
Me: We shouldn’t ever hurt our friends right?
Her: No. It’s not nice to be mean.
Me: Exactly. It’s never nice to be mean and hit.
Her: Boys should never hit girls.
Me: I know, but he’s our friend. We don’t beat the poo out of our friends.
Her: HE POOPED?! I don’t poop my pants. I know how to use the potty.
Me: I don’t know if he pooped or not. But the point is, kid, we don’t hit people.
Her: I can even wipe my own bum and wash my hands by myself. I only poop in the potty.
Me: I know. You’re an awesome pooper. But you know it’s not nice to hit right?
Her: I’m sorry.

Eventually I convinced her that she was sorry for hitting Hitler even though she didn’t like that he hit her first. After that we finished our juice boxes and walked over to where Hitler and his mom were sitting on a picnic table and I assume they were having a similar talk. As we walked over Hitler started to cringe and you could see my charge had put the fear of the Gods in his eyes and that this would haunt him for a while. It was awkward but we stood in front of Hitler’s mom and her kid. The three year old and I were holding hands while I nudged her forward and told her to “say it” and she eventually said she was sorry for hitting him.

Then she walked up to him and hugged him and said sorry again. His mom poked him and he said he was sorry too. Then they hugged again and when they let go of each other she promptly said “It’s not nice to hit.”

She also asked him minuets later if he had pooped and told him pooping his pants was bad.


5 thoughts on “When Three Year Olds Attack

  1. Sorry love but that is crap. I have always told my son: If someone hits you, make sure they don’t ever hurt you again. But fighting is a last resort, but if you have to fight finish it for good. You will never get in trouble for sticking up for yourself. But if I find out your bullying someone I will break your ass into a million pieces.

    But as your not the parent you can’t impose your values onto someone else’s kid. I think you did a good job, but I would not have let her say sorry first.

    • Exactly Samius! I honestly don’t know what to do in those situations so I went with the flow and hoped I didn’t ruin my friends child. My chief fear when people leave me alone with their kids is that I’ll ruin their child when they’ve trusted me with the most important thing in their lives.

      Personally though, I’m happy she put the fear in that kid and am giggling because the only thing the three year old took away from the event is that she can poop on her own and NEVER poops her pants.

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