6. Babysitting Bertie
Katrien has a kind heart, and her
compassion shone through when she recently offered to look after Bertie, the
only child of the Van Klaverens. Bertie, who turned three years old recently,
is the much-awaited and cherished gift graciously bestowed upon Mr. and Mrs.
Van Klaveren. After years of hoping and praying, they received him with immense
joy, though they often find themselves overwhelmed by his energy and mischief.
In truth, Bertie is quite spoiled, and whenever he spends an afternoon with us, mishaps are inevitable.
One Saturday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Van Klaveren had to go shopping for a ladies’ hat, a men’s hat, and a spring coat.
They brought Bertie to our home, the Arie & Katrien Dof household. Bertie’s mother, Emma, in her usual anxious manner, began to instruct him to behave, to obey Auntie Katrien and Uncle Arie, to inform Aunt Katrien if he needed to use the toilet, and so forth. She also said that Bertie was not to have any sweets due to his recent stomach upset, and to wrap him up well if we took him outside since he had just recovered from a cold, etc.
With these instructions given, Bertie’s parents zoomed away in their Dodge, headed for hat, hat, and spring coat. Since our children were busy with all of their typical Saturday things, Katrien and I were left alone with Bertie.
“What shall we do?” Katrien asked. We had planned to go into town together to buy a gift for our eldest son’s birthday the next day. “Let’s go and take Bertie with us,” I suggested.
So, Bertie pulled the cord signalling the driver to stop the bus at the next stop, even though no one was getting on or off. The driver didn’t take this lightly and started shouting at two boys who looked like they could be trouble-makers. Loudly and indignantly, they protested their innocence. When more passengers began to intervene on behalf of the boys, the driver grumbled and pressed the accelerator.
We kept Bertie on our laps to avoid further trouble. That’s how we finally reached the city center. Bertie wanted to get off the bus “all by himself,” causing a traffic jam and protests at the door. Somewhat flustered, we entered the large department store, turning Bertie through the revolving door twice at his insistent request.
We immediately took the escalator to the fourth floor to buy several records for our son. Bertie marveled at the technological wonder of the escalator. Since we knew exactly which records our son wanted, we quickly made our purchase. We descended the escalator again, and Bertie, determined to “do it himself,” got his way.
When we reached the ground floor, Katrien’s attention was drawn to a sale on fabrics, while I was captivated by the sight of beautiful carpentry tools. Bertie brought us back to reality with a sudden, violent scream. Horrified, we saw him trying to climb up the down escalator. He couldn’t get higher than the third step, his legs and arms flailing desperately against the relentless descent. With difficulty, I managed to rescue him. He hollered for ten minutes. A few ladies looked at us reproachfully, muttering about “some parents” and how “this shouldn’t be allowed.”
Katrien continued to look at fabrics while I tried to entertain Bertie, which he enjoyed for a while. Then she went to inspect and buy socks, which, in typical fashion, involved looking at dozens of pairs, feeling them, and then putting them back. Finally, she bought the first pair she had picked up. Anyone who finishes buying socks in under twenty minutes is not a real woman. I was exhausted with Bertie in my arms.
After the socks, we needed to buy a frying pan in another department. Struggling under my increasingly restless burden, I followed my wife. In the new department, we found all kinds of household items: coffee pots, pans, kettles, bathtubs, toilets, and, of course, frying pans. It was difficult to make a choice. I put Bertie down for a moment and saw my neighbor Jan Mol, who was also shopping. He told me he was buying an electric saw. We chatted briefly about the usefulness and dangers of electric saws.
As we talked, I kept a wary eye on Bertie, hoping to avoid another disaster. Suddenly, I heard a whizzing sound, and then an eruption of laughter. Out of politeness, we joined in, though we had no idea what was so amusing. However, our mirth was tinged with worry as we realized Bertie was missing. Not far off, a large crowd had gathered, their laughter growing even louder.
Determined to find Bertie, I pushed my way through the throng of people. When I finally reached the front, my heart sank at the sight before me. Little Bertie stood in front of a display toilet, just finishing hoisting up his pants. An anxious salesman stared into the toilet bowl in dismay. The situation was immediately clear to everyone. With a swift and firm grip, I seized Bertie and dragged him away from the delighted crowd. The salesman shouted after me that this was “unacceptable,” but it was too late. I gave Katrien a commanding signal, and with Bertie dangling over my shoulder, we bolted out of the store.
We collapsed onto the seat of the city bus, panting and sweating. After half an hour, we finally arrived home, sighing with relief as we walked through the door.
“What an afternoon!” I muttered.
“Tell me about it,” Katrien groaned.
Around six o’clock, the Van Klaverens arrived to pick up Bertie. Emma praised her son for keeping his pants dry. “He’s so well potty-trained,” she said enthusiastically. We nodded in agreement. If only they knew!
“Can Bertie come again?” Emma asked.
“Of course,” Katrien replied.
Sometimes, my wife is the epitome of self-denial.
