Sitting Again

Saturday night, my husband and I had the opportunity to serve as emergency fill-in babysitters for our good friends' kids, ages 3-1/2 and 2. I haven't been the babysitter for a long time, but after listening to a few minutes of the sad whimper, "Mom, Dad, come back," I started to remember.

Some babysitting jobs I had back in the day were challenging, but funny:

I recall babysitting for a 5- or 6-year-old only child of a very wealthy family in a gated neighborhood in California. Their house was immaculate: shiny, creamy tile floors, and white (!) carpet and couches. Some of us called the house The White Elephant. It sat imposingly on top of a small hill. The focal point: a huge staircase, which was narrow at the front door and got wider as it sloped down to the circular driveway. And, it was all stark white. Greek-statue white. The house, the staircase, everything. Anyway, just setting the scene. The boy was used to getting his way and he wasn't going to be told it was time for bed. "You're not the boss of me!" he screamed. I calmly explained that his parents had left me in charge and that it was time for bed. "You're not the boss of me. God's the boss of me!" It was difficult not to laugh at this point. "Well," I said, "God left me in charge, and He says it's time for bed." Of course, that didn't work. The boy ended up going limp on the floor. I dragged him by his ankles across the white shag to his room.

Another family I sat for had two kids ... and a snake. The boy and girl were a little bit older, maybe 6 and 8. The boy had a snake. It wasn't very big, but it was large enough to give me the willies. Like Indy, I hate snakes. Anyway, against my gentle protesting, the boy removed the snake from its cage and let it crawl on a desk. The snake slithered through the rings in a three-ring binder. The kids became hysterical, screaming, "Get her out! Get her out!" I remember considering quitting the babysitting career. I'm not exactly sure how I did it, but I pried open the binder rings and carefully pulled the snake free. I'm sure I didn't get paid enough that night.

Other jobs turned out to be sad:

I regularly babysat for family with four kids in the same gated neighborhood: the oldest was a boy of 6 or 7, the two middle children were girls (probably 5 and 3), and the youngest was a baby. The kids were generally pretty well-behaved, but occasionally an argument would break out and the oldest boy would lose his temper. He would hurl himself at his sisters, fists flying, and I would have to peel him off and forcefully place him in timeout. Only later did I learn that his father was physically abusing his mother.

I sat for another family with two children: twins -- a boy and a girl, and I believe they were 3. They were good kids and we had fun playing toys or watching cartoons. One summer night, while I was traveling abroad, my mom called to tell me that the little girl had fallen in the pool during their birthday party and drowned. One parent thought the other was watching her. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Sometimes the world is so cruel.

Fortunately, Saturday was uneventful. Well, maybe that's the wrong word. I guess I consider singing along with Elmo, getting big hugs from a 3-1/2-year-old, watching a 2-year-old crack himself up, and seeing the two boys lead my husband in a spirited round of "Ring Around the Rosies," pretty darn fun.

I think the night will go in my babysitting record book as "totally rewarding."