Maggie is a now seven-year-old that I babysat my senior year of college every day after school. At the time, Maggie was a first grader. She once confessed to me that she preferred to be called “Margaret,” but nobody would ever call her this. I usually called her Miss Maggie.
The first day I sat for that family, I told Maggie we needed to go in to do her reading, and she jolted off her bike and ran for it. I had their ill-behaved beaglador on a leash, so she (the child, not the dog) got away. …Everything about this situation was scary and sucked. Except unbeknownst to me, Miss Maggie is a relatively obedient child and was not allowed to leave the block. So while I freaked out and looked basically everywhere for her, employing her older siblings to help me, she hid in the bushes next door.
Maggie is the only child who has ever asked me what color peg I want when I got married in The Game of Life. I was allowed to cheat at charades by making noises when playing with Maggie. However, it was pretty much heresy to fail to guess whatever she was acting out. This seemed fair.
In the middle of the winter, I got to go girl scout cookie selling with Maggie. We rocked. I pulled the wagon, she looked cute, we totally made our quota.
Maggie was busy adventuring through the Magic Tree House series with Jack and Annie for most of the year. In the spring, her family built a tree house, and Maggie made sure we read in the tree house every single day after that, which was very fitting. She allotted me my own “room” in the tree house — it should be noted that the tree house was mostly a platform, so this was more of a few square feet that I had complete and total dibs over. I was responsible for bringing up the snacks.