Ryan and the Pink Stain

Babysitting has never been a big deal for me. I have been babysitting since I was about twelve. My sibling aren’t really prime subjects, but about a year ago, when I was thirteen, I started babysitting for more and more people. Ryan and Montana were just a few of those other people. Ryan, Montana, Trisha, and Jim, are people we know from church. Montana is nine years old and Ryan is ten months. I baby-sit for them on Sunday nights so they can go to “Flood the Desert” at our church. I was happy to be earning a of bit extra money. Trish and Jim had left and I was sitting on the couch with Montana. Ryan was on the floor playing with a toy tractor. “You thirsty, Montana?” I asked.

“No, I’m alright,” she said, flipping the channel.

“Ok, I’ll be right back then, watch your brother,” I said getting up off the couch and heading to the fridge. I looked around and saw a few juice boxes. Not really what I wanted, but if it was all they had, then I guess it would do. I made way to grab it when I noticed a few bottles of Gatorade. Bending down, I peered into the fridge. There were three bottles of Gatorade, one red fruit punch and two yellow lemon-lime. I liked lemon-lime better, but it didn’t sound good to me at that moment for whatever reason. I shrugged and grabbed the last fruit punch Gatorade. Walking back to the couch, I opened it and took a few sips. Ryan was standing against the television and pointing to whatever was on. I put the cap back on the bottle and set it on the floor where I was sitting. Ryan crawled over and grabbed my Gatorade bottle. I gently took it away from him.

“No, no, Ryan,” I said as I put the bottle in my lap. “Do you need a bottle?” I picked him up and walked over to the counter and stuck his bottle in the microwave. He started to cry and reach for the bottle. “It’s alright. It’s almost done!” I pleaded with him.

“Ding!” went the microwave. On the little screen, green letters flashed the words ‘Your food is ready.’

“Here, Ryan,” I said pulling the bottle out of the microwave and handing it to him. He put it in his mouth, and I walked back to the couch. I set him on the ground.

“Must be hungry,” Montana said.

“Yeah, guess so,” I said smiling. “Hey, you wanna take the dogs out. Your mom asked.”

“Sure,” she said climbing off the couch and finding her shoes.

I got up to help her, leaving Ryan on the floor by the television. Finding my shoes, I opened the dogs’ kennel and led them out to the backyard. Montana walked out there with them. Suddenly I heard Ryan crying. I ran back over to him. “What’s the matter?” I started. “Oh my gosh!” I smacked my forehead. “How could I be so stupid!”

There the little, ten month-old, baby was, sitting in a puddle of red Gatorade on the Ridder’s off-white rug. He began screaming. Apparently he didn’t like sitting in the Gatorade. I quickly put the cap back on the bottle and then picked Ryan up. Montana came back inside with the dogs.

“What happened!?” she asked frantically.

“He spilled the Gatorade. Will you change him, please?”

“Yeah,” she said picking him up and taking him to his room. His screams were muffled with the wall space between me and him, but he didn’t sound happy. I sighed and ran into the kitchen to grab some paper towels. I began scrubbing the red liquid out of the carpet. About five minutes later, Montana came back with Ryan, who wasn’t crying anymore, but he didn’t look happy.

“Do you have some cleaner?” I asked.

“Uh, let me look,” she said setting Ryan on the ground. She went into the kitchen, and I heard a few cabinet doors opening and shutting. She came back with a squirt bottle filled with some light green liquid in it. “Here, this should work.”

“Thanks, will you keep Ryan busy while I clean this?” I asked.
She nodded, picked him up, and sat on the couch. I scrubbed and rubbed all the red Gatorade out of the carpet. The smell of watered ammonium and fruit punch Gatorade filled the room. For about twenty minutes I was cleaning up the mess that Ryan had made. Technically it was my fault. I had underestimated his strength. I got up and washed my hands. Even after the apple soap from the sink, my hands smelled like the cleaner. It wasn’t really strong, thankfully.

“Well, that’s that,” I told Montana.

She smiled. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

“You’re right, that cleaner stuff works,” I said smiling.

I had cleaned it all out just in time. The sound of a truck was heard outside, along with the slamming of car doors and footsteps on the gravel. Trish and Jim had pulled up. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell them or not. I debated over that for about ten seconds after they opened the door.

“Hey,” Trish said taking Ryan from Montana. “Was everything alright?”

“Well, other than Ryan spilling red Gatorade all over the carpet, everything was great,” I said quietly.

To my relief, Trish and Jim just laughed. “That rug? Its one of those cheap things from Target! We’re getting rid of that when we can find one we like that goes with the couches.” she said.

I smiled. “Good, that makes me feel better!”

“Yeah, the other day Ryan spilled my coffee cup,” she said pointing to a big brown stain, right across from the pink spill from the Gatorade.

I laughed. “I almost picked the yellow one. Almost being the key word.”

Every time I am over there to baby-sit now, I never leave my drinks on the floor. The pink stain is still there. When all the lights are on, it shows itself. Other than that, the light green ammonium worked pretty well. Oh, and I don’t think that I will be having fruit punch Gatorade around Ryan anytime soon.