Complied by Holly Dayton’13, Lens Section Editor
Every year, the Scroll runs a series of college essays written by the graduating seniors. This year’s seniors are a very talented class who are leaving CCDS to go to colleges all over (and even out of) the country. This is the college entrance essay of Kathryn Black, a former Lens Section Editor, who will be attending Colgate University this fall.
Kathryn’s Essay:
I never thought I’d be afraid of a two year old. But that was before the triplets, when I was young and naïve. Life was simple. I glided through my narrow reality with meals already cooked, tuition paid, and parents ever eager and ready to whisk me away to my destination. But my life of blissful ignorance was rocked when I agreed to babysit for the Zimmerman’s two-year-old triplets and four-year old daughter. As I climbed the porch stairs, crossed the vast patio, and approached the fateful door, I caught sight of my impending fate through a side window—four grimacing faces pressed against the glass. I was terrified by their wild and angry stares. My first step inside the house triggered the ear splitting crying that made my heart sink. Would I survive the next five hours?
Toys everywhere. Screeching children everywhere. Smells everywhere—I could tell Pampers had made a killing on this family. I was overwhelmed and struck dumb by the chaos. Both parents are alumni of my school and had been star athletes—perhaps the best the school had ever seen. Needless to say, their children were strong, energetic, and fast. After a quick, shouted rundown of the bedtime routine and the location of their emergency phone numbers, the parents escaped through the back door and made a run for their car. Then, what had been the most horrific crying I had ever heard, escalated to previously uncharted decibels as two of the four small wildebeests charged out the front door after the car of their retreating parents. Not skipping a beat, the parents whipped down the long driveway, tires squealing, and disappeared into the night as two of their three triplets stampeded in hot pursuit. At first shocked and helpless, I snapped out of my paralysis as the two children neared the end of the driveway. Running after them, I yelled, “Cookies! Chips Ahoy! Oreos!”
With the road a few steps away and the bribe of cookies and candy, the two wild beings grudgingly trotted back to the house and the safety of indoors. Although I had successfully stopped half of the Zimmerman tyrants from running away in quest of their parents, my victory was short lived. When reuniting the Zimmerman four under the same roof, I did not encounter that same striking odor of baby powder that masked a hint of what had filled all the disposed Pampers. Instead, the house was saturated with the flavor of the real thing. Andrew, the only boy triplet and the one who had stayed behind as two of his sisters made a run for it, had drawn on his monkey-like dexterity to scale the cabinets and deposit a mountainous load in the kitchen sink. His diaper was nowhere to be found.
These were my first five minutes with the Zimmerman children, five minutes that left me convinced of their infamously untamable spirits and outright refusal to listen to authority. Since this traumatizing night, when at more than one point I doubted all five of us would survive until their parents returned, I have continued to babysit for the Zimmermans about once or twice a week. Last year, I spent an entire week at Hilton Head with their family playing the role of nanny. Based on the fact that I still can’t tell the two girl triplets apart, I would be lying if I said I eventually got the hang of it. At that crucial point of transitioning from infants into young children, the Zimmerman children are constantly evolving. When they grow out of one trend (like insisting on brushing my hair over and over again with a tiny brush during the height of a lice epidemic) they enter another (such as biting or locking me out of the house) even harder to manage. Forgive me if this line is too “cheesy,” but I think I have evolved with the Zimmerman children as well. Before I started babysitting them, I didn’t really know the meaning of handling difficult situations. I didn’t know what it was like to be responsible for four young lives—let alone when they were bent on endangering their own by running out into traffic. Even though I have grown to love them and enjoy babysitting them, that first night I didn’t know if I would be able to handle babysitting them ever again. In the hours leading up to the parents’ return, as I struggled to get them in their PJ’s and in bed while foiling their many ingenious schemes to delay “nighty night” (it took four hours to get all four asleep), I had just about resolved to tell the Zimmerman parents I didn’t think I was cut out for this. However, I have always prided myself on taking on any challenge. The Zimmermans have told me that their list of failed babysitters is lengthy. Call me foolish, but when Mr. Zimmerman asked if his children had frightened me off babysitting them again, I replied, “I don’t scare easy.”
Postscript: The other day I received a letter from Mrs. Zimmerman’s sister announcing the birth of her own set of triplets: Thomas, William, and Christopher. I’ve since unlisted my number…
Photo courtesy of people.hsc.com
