Don't hire me as a babysitter.

One of my favorite things in the world to do is go to a nice restaurant with outdoor seating on a pretty day and enjoy a good meal. Alone or with someone, it doesn't matter; I just like being outside and eating good food.

Early last summer, on a beautiful Saturday morning, I was babysitting my brother's two-and-a-half year old daughter, Ashlyn. I adore this child... absolutely love her... but I am so glad she isn't mine. I can't keep up with her. She never stops. She's an adorable, insatiable, mischievous, bullheaded little minx of a girl. As much as I relish our time together, one hour with Ashlyn makes me thoroughly appreciate all over again just how easy my own child was at that age. My daughter has always enjoyed freedom and independence, while I have enjoyed knowing with maternal certainty that she possesses an instinctive understanding of and adherence to the boundaries of safety and reason. I never, ever worried about her getting into danger, or even trouble. She could entertain herself for hours, if I let her; she spoiled me as a mother way more than I ever spoiled her as a child.

I made the unfortunate mistake of assuming the same was true of my niece.

My god, even setting the scene for this story is a glaringly obvious recipe for disaster:

• 1 beautiful summer day
• 1 me, wanting to make the most of the beautiful day
• 1 Ashlyn to babysit for a few hours
• 1 Gracie (an adolescent lab mix)
• 1 George (an adolescent Great Dane)
• 1 purse
• 1 book
• 1 whimsical idea to take the whole lot for lunch to The Wild Fork, a lovely restaurant with patio seating in the courtyard of a posh outdoor shopping center with all kinds of rich snobby people out for the pleasure of being seen (me... I just liked the food & sunshine)

It all started off just swell. We sat at a table right on the edge of the grassy courtyard, and I tethered the dogs to the leg of my chair. I nodded a friendly greeting at one of the servers, Dale, with whom I'd waited tables about ten years ago when I moved back to Tulsa after college. When our own server approached a few minutes later, I ordered a spinach salad and a glass of wine for myself, a small three-cheese pizza for my niece, and a bowl of water for my dogs. The dogs settled in on the sunny grass while I sat back with my book and sipped my pinot gris, keeping one eye on Ashlyn as she explored the courtyard. It didn't take her long to discover the small fountain, about fifteen feet away, with a gentle spray of water surrounding a statue of a girl in the center of the shallow pool. I watched as Ashlyn promptly lay down on the border of the fountain and dipped her little fingers into the cool water. Perhaps a more diligent caregiver would have jumped up to go over and tell her "no-no" and warn her of the germy dangers of public fountains... or at the very least, sit close by to make sure she didn't fall in. But I figured, even if she did take a tumble, the water was only a few inches deep, and I could certainly get over there and pull her out before she drowned. The worst that could happen was she'd end up wet. I took another sip of my wine.

The puppies (all 170 pounds of them) perked up when the food came out, but I got them to back off, then called Ashlyn over for a few bites of her pizza. Her interest in eating lasted all of five minutes before she was off to the fountain again. This time, she slipped off her shoes, sat her cute little bottom down, and dipped her toes in the water. Splish-splish. Then her feet. Splash-splash-splash. Big smile. Happy girl. Another curious toddler wandered to the edge of the fountain, her attentive mother close behind. Ashlyn began to show off - kersploosh-kersploosh - as her legs churned the water all the way up to her knees. The other little girl looked pleadingly at her mother, then took off her sandals and joined my niece in the fun. By the time her new playmate left, Ashlyn was soaked up to her denim shorts.

In the meantime, I had finished my salad and was nibbling at the mostly untouched pizza. The wine glass was nearly empty. Normally, I'd have loved to stay longer to read and have another glass of wine. Instead, I signaled the server and asked for the check and a to-go box. Then I turned and saw Ashlyn staggering towards me, her wet shorts caught around her knees as she tried to get them off. Oh, what the heck. She's just a little kid in a t-shirt and diaper. Who cares? I helped her out of the wet pants and set them on the chair beside me as she zipped back to the pool and resumed full splash mode.

When the server returned to the table, I handed her my debit card, then slid the uneaten pizza into the styrofoam container. By now the dogs were restless, and Ashlyn was getting wetter by the minute. It was definitely time to go. I stood up and began to collect my things: purse over the shoulder, to-go box in one hand, damp shorts on the to-go box, book on top of the shorts... now for the dogs. I slipped the loops of the leashes off the chair leg and the dogs jumped up, waggy-tailed and ready to play. We walked (okay, they dragged me) over to the fountain, and I announced to Ashlyn as engagingly as possible, "It's time to go!" as I bent down to pick up her shoes, then set them on the book on the shorts on the to-go box. Ashlyn watched with mild interest, then went back to her splashing fun.

"Come on, Ashlyn!" I cajoled as I pulled the increasingly excited dogs back over to the table so I could sign the receipt for my lunch. My niece paid no attention.

I decided to play the abandonment card: "Bye-bye, Ashlyn! We're leaving!" And to show her I wasn't kidding, I took several steps towards the other end of the courtyard, where my car was parked. This time, Ashlyn stood up.

"Aha! It worked!" thought I. But Ashlyn made no move to join me. Instead, with those gorgeous brown, bigger-than-her-head doe eyes staring calmly at me, she reached down and grasped the hem of her sopping t-shirt, and in one deft motion pulled it up and over her head. Still looking straight at me, she held out her arm let the shirt drop to the ground beside her. Then, like a cowboy reaching for his holstered pistols, she grasped the velcro tabs of her waterlogged Huggies, and with two simultaneous tugs, the diaper fell with a splat onto the brick. With complete nonchalance, my very naked niece turned, plopped down on her now-bare butt, and dunked her splish-splashing legs back into the fountain.

I didn't have to look to know that several dozen pairs of eyes were now focused intently on me and my disrobed charge. I stood there, frozen, taking in the scene myself, running through my options as I assessed the situation. Arms full. Agitated dogs tugging in two different directions. A bare-assed child thirty steps away. A crowd of spectators just dying to know what would happen next.

"Here, give me the dogs," came a kind voice from stage left, and I looked over to see Dale approaching. I smiled with relieved gratitude as I handed over the leashes, then set my stack of crap down on a nearby bench. Striding over to the fountain, I tried to come up with an efficient plan for making the most graceful exit possible. I swooped Ashlyn up into my arms, then grabbed the diaper and (thank GOD for velcro) re-fastened it around her little butt. I figured a wet diaper was better than a bare ass. Perching her on my left hip, I picked up soaked shirt and rushed back to my patiently waiting hero and new favorite person in the world, Dale. I uttered a thousand thanks as I arranged the purse, leashes, shoes, clothes, book, and to-go box in my free hand.

I made my way to the parking lot, trying to appear to my audience as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary - as if young women in sundresses lug large dogs, naked girls, and to-go boxes around like that all the time.

I think they bought it.