When we returned to my sister’s house last week after my niece’s wedding, the babysitters let out a sigh of relief.

“Our tour of duty is over,” one exclaimed, half-jokingly.

My niece had the great idea to have a special reception for all her younger cousins while the oldsters danced the night away in downtown Baltimore. The idea was great for everyone except the one adult and two teenagers who had to watch 10 kids between the ages of 2 and 11.

How the night didn’t end with something out of “Lord of the Flies,” I’ll never know. I haven’t read that book in ages, but things probably would have turned out differently if they had served mini pizza bagels, pigs in a blanket and cake.

I can only imagine the horror if there weren’t three video game systems in the house. Say what you want about what those things do to the brain. They probably saved a life or two last week. And if there had been carnage, the authorities would have needed weeks to find the bodies buried under the baby dolls and stuffed animals the girls had strewn about the family room.

I love the younger set, but you knew the babysitters would have a long night when the descriptions of the children included phrases like:

• “Keep him away from his sister.”
• “Likes to be in control. Watch out for her.”
• “Someone must be with him at all times.”

All in good fun, of course. And, luckily, none followed Bridget’s name. But she’s no angel, even when she’s trying to be sweet. We pulled up at the end of the night and could see the living room through the glass screen door.

Bridget was in there with the only cousin younger than her, Connor, who just turned 2 earlier this year. We couldn’t see any adults in the room, but didn’t worry as we watched her walk up to Connor and give him a hug. What a sweet moment, we thought, as we sat in the car and watched.

That’s when things got a little dicey. Bridget, as described by someone who she plays with, “likes to hug hard.” Slowly, the hug turned into a headlock as Connor tried to wriggle away. Within seconds we found out that my brother Dennis – Connor’s father and a former wrestler like me – hadn’t properly taught his youngest how to wrestle.

Two points for Bridget. We were laughing too hard to see if she rolled him over for the pin.

When the babysitters have to referee a wrestling match between a pair of toddlers, you know the babysitters didn’t exaggerate their relief. I didn’t envy them for those six hours or so amongst 10 of my ilk. Especially since most hadn’t seen the Florida branch of my family for a while, which released a lot of pent-up playing from the 5-11 set.

But at least we know that the second half of the Next Generation – my siblings and I have accounted for 22 kids – can drive people crazy just like their Moms and Dads.

And that’s the whole reason to have kids, right?