 When my older boys were young, we had a series of baby sitter
boo-boos that really curtailed our social life for quite some time.
The first one was Stacey. My husband used to call her "Spacey"
because she kind of had that look permanently etched on her faced
that said "Huh?" Spacey had a predilection to use our phone to call
900 numbers -- the ones that cost money to use. Of course, I didn't
know this until my phone bill came. Lo and behold, $150 worth of 900
numbers were listed on the bill. Obviously, we didn't ask her to do
that again.
Liz was a pretty girl who loved kids. The kids liked her too. One
evening she apparently sent them to bed early, and my kids
complained about it the next morning. I asked them why she'd sent
them to bed.
They said, "Because her boyfriend didn't like us."
"Her boyfriend was here?"
"Yeah, and he's mean."
This probably wasn't the only time that a boy had ruined a
perfectly good baby sitter… but… bye, bye, Liz.
The next girl babysat for us only once. This was 15 years ago, so
you'll forgive me if I don't remember her name. For the last 15
years, we've simply referred to her as The Girl Who Stole $500 From
My Dresser Drawer. Enough said.
The last one was a young man named Brian. He was firm with my
boys because sometimes you had to be. It's possible, though, that he
may have been a little too firm and a little less vigilant than he
should have been.
When we came home, we noticed that a screen had fallen out of one
of the windows and was lying on the ground outside. We asked Brian
what happened and he said he didn't know. The next morning, I asked
the boys. What they said chilled me to the very bones: "We crawled
through the window and ran away from home last night." Apparently,
they only came back because they weren't allowed to cross the street
without an adult. That was the last time we ever hired a baby sitter
who wasn't a family member. It was also the day our monthly "date
nights" came to an abrupt halt.
[to top of second column]
 |
 Shortly after my oldest child turned 13, I gave birth to my third
child. I thought it would be all right to leave the first two at
home while I took the baby to a doctor's appointment. When I came
back, I found that the oldest had muscled his younger brother into
the baby's car seat, buckled it and poured ice cubes down his back.
Fast forward 12 years. The baby will turn 12 this year. He has
two younger siblings. Getting his older brothers to baby-sit takes
an act of God.
My husband asked me, "So, when will it be safe for us to go out
without hiring a baby sitter?"
I considered his question carefully. Let's see. The almost
12-year-old is even more unpredictable than the first child was.
He's smart as a whip, though, and he's fearless, too. So I know that
if someone was choking to death, he'd not only know the Heimlich
maneuver, but he'd also know what a tracheotomy was and he wouldn't
be afraid to try it if need be. The problem is that he might not
necessarily do them in that order, and he can't be reliably depended
on to be sure the victim was actually choking first.
Yesterday, I came around the corner of my kitchen to see my
6-year-old sitting in a laundry basket at the top of the stairs
where my "potential baby sitter" was getting ready to give him a
push.
My daughter, the voice of reason, yelled, "You're going to push
him down the stairs?! You're mean!"
His giggling ended abruptly when he saw me glaring at him. Only
then did rationality come back to him as he helped the younger boy
out of the basket.
In answer to my husband's query: "Well, honey, by the time he's
old enough to baby-sit, we won't need a baby sitter anymore."
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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