No, seriously. If you need anything, just call.

Last night, Etienne and I went out.

At night.

Without children.  Like grownups.

The supper was somewhat spontaneous - at least for parents of small trolls...meeting a lovely couple of friends for dinner.

Now, our babysitter list is shockingly short.

Like...one name.

And it's been so long since we've called her, she's probably got trolls of her own by now.  If she's not already a grandmother.  So...not really an option.

Anyway...a beautiful, smart, sweet young lady lives two doors down the street from us.  

We decided to give her a try.

Raquel is 12 years old, and has dropped by for many a supper when Etienne is away on work trips, offering to play with the girls while I cook.  She's an absolute sweetheart...calm, quiet, terribly responsible, ridonkulously polite, and she takes after her mother in that YOU DON'T SCREW WITH HER.  EVER.

But she's so teeny weeny.  I'll bet she doesn't even scrape 70 pounds...and she's maybe two feet tall.  And that's being generous.  She looks maybe nine years old.

It's like leaving your children with a garden gnome.  Or a Polly Pocket.

AND she sucks her thumb.

SUCKS HER THUMB!!!

Adorable, but it doesn't hike the maturity factor any, when you're thinking of leaving your kid behind (although I suppose two free thumbs are not a requirement for dialling 9-1-1).

We left a list of instructions...two bottles of pop in the fridge...some cupcakes...nachos...younger troll sleeping in her crib, older troll sleepy in her pyjamas...and a detailed instruction page on how to work the remote controls for the tv.  (There are three remote controls; operating the freaking space shuttle is simpler).

As we left, I looked behind at Raquel and Eva waving at me...and there were maybe two inches' difference between the two of them.  Literally, two inches.

And I was struck with a wave of terror

WE WERE LEAVING OUR BABIES WITH A BABY.

A GARDEN GNOME.

A STAR WARS ACTION FIGURE.

We pushed our fears down, and decided we would have fun, even though our children were in the care of a Fisher Price figurine.

Anyway, we enjoyed our meals and the company, and scraped in just under our self-imposed deadline of midnight to find Eva and Raquel curled up in Eva's bed, snoring like tiny freight trains.

Raquel had put Eva to bed, and then crawled in with her (awwwww).

Everyone was perfectly fine...and our raging paranoia was completely unfounded.

We felt great, until we hooked our cellphones up to charge overnight...and realized each had a "missed call" on it.

Mine even had a message.

It was Eva, sounding like the second victim in a horror movie (the one who runs away from the killer while looking backwards every 3 seconds, only to fall down and die screaming in the field as he slashes her to bits).   She was crying about a noise in the backyard...the cat climbing the window.  But we'd said not to open the door for anything...so Eva  had clearly sat and cried while Coco played Spiderman on the window screen.   

Raquel had allowed her to call in an effort to calm her down.

And I suppose it worked (even though her rotten parents didn't ANSWER THEIR PHONES) because Eva was sound asleep and a sleepy Raquel told us there had been no major problems.

Etienne's phone had simply a "missed call" flash on it.

How we missed the calls, I don't know.

It was an awesome dinner.

And we'll call young Raquel again.

Not when both kids are up...she's still too wee.  But when Addie is already in bed and Eva is heading off to bed, Raquel is ideal.  Especially with her parents two doors down.

I do know that the next time we leave our children with a thumbsucking peanut, I'll check my phone regularly.

And maybe even set it to "ring".

Jeez.

What a couple of doofuses.