I love babysitting, especially when the kids are at least four. At least with four-year-olds, they talk fairly clearly by that point and we can have a conversation. Okay, so the conversation will most likely be about a toy or some crazy show like Spongebob Squarepants, but at least it's a conversation. Babies don't seem to like me. Once they're in my arms, they cry. I don't know what it is. Maybe they sense my ineptitude as a potential mother. Or maybe they just don't agree with my recent meal of veal (baby cow, FYI). Doesn't matter as that I don't intend to have kids anyway. Part of the reason why I like babysitting is that I get most of the fun stuff with the kids and then give them back to the parents when they come back home.
But there are some rough spots. One particular day was quite nasty. It started out normal enough. I was to babysit my friend's daughter (for sake of privacy for the kid, let's call her Shelly) while her mother was at work. By that point, I knew the basic rundown. Lunch at a designated time, limited amount of snacks and just what kind of snacks she can have, go outside often and don't let her spend so much time in front of the TV, don't let all her guy friends come over to the house, etc. etc. No problem.
So the day went pretty normally. I let her watch some of the early morning toons right up until about lunch time. I headed to the kitchen to check out the selection and found it rather lacking. Some boxes of Easy Mac with no packets in it. Huh...chuck that. Cereal boxes with only a small bit of cereal in the bottom of each box. Some room temperture ketchup and mustard. Little else. Ok, check the fridge. Not too much better options there either. A little milk and juice. Some alcohol. Less than half a stick of butter. Maybe the freezer then? Again not much. Eight chicken nuggets, a box of Texas Toast, couple flavors of ice cream and little else. Apparently grocery day hasn't come yet and unless a cheeseburger at McDonald's has dropped to 23 cents, I can't afford to buy us food.
Selecting the Texas Toast box and chicken nuggets, I set them out on two plates. Four nuggets and a piece of toast each (there were only two pieces in the box.) Shelly, ever curious, has come in to watch me, clearly amused. Apparently she hadn't known adults were that creative in their meals. Yeah. So I pick up a plate and put it in the microwave. Normally I know how to work these things. You just press a couple buttons and within a few minutes, the food is done. However, this one does not have buttons. It has a dial that you turn to show the time. Should be easy enough. Putting on what I believe to be the minimum time for the toast, that being two minutes, I turn the dial appropriately and turn it on. Then, to pass the brief time, Shelly suggests I go upstairs to listen to her sing. Sure, sounds like fun. Granted, this ain't no Grand Ole Opry, but I could dig it.
So we head up to her room while I sit to watch her sing and dance to Britney Spears. Dancing's a little meh, but hey, it's Brit. What's to be expected? About halfway through Toxic, I stop her. "Erm...do you smell something?" Realizing it right away, we dart down the stairs to find black smoke just POURING out of the microwave. And just as we step into the room, the microwave dings. I look to Shelly. "Your lunch is ready." She denies it, insisting that it's mine. I didn't bother to argue the point. After all, the kid comes first. Opening the doors and windows, we let the smoke out and after it clears, we open the microwave to find four tiny little black grape-sized lumps and a black charred brick. Yummy. Just like what Mom used to make. At least, it would be if my mother was a fire-breathing dragon with a penchant for cooking her food that way, though on some days when she hasn't had her cigarettes...just kidding.
Anyway, I attempt to make up for it by cooking the other one and definitely lessening the time for it and keeping an eye on it. I apparently still put too much time in it, but I can easily turn it off when it's cooked and I give the odd meal to Shelly. Of course, it ain't much and since there's little else, I end up giving her a bowl of ice cream for lunch instead. We finish what is to be the last of the cartoons before our plan to head out to the local park. If only it were to be.
About partway through Cat in the Hat, I remembered that I had a tin full of various games in my car. I suggest it to Shelly and she's all excited and eagerly goes to grab her slippers. I think nothing of it. After all, my car is but ten feet from the house. How much damage could they get? So we head out to my car, get the games and then return to the house. Or at least...try to. I jiggle the handle. I jiggle the handle again. Then I remembered: the house locks from the outside. Crap. I go to the nearest window. Locked. Another window. Locked. Another. Locked. Another and another. All locked. After a string of words that should never be uttered in front of a child muttered under my breath after realizing that the keys to the house I have are in my purse which is inside said house, as well as my cell phone, Shelly says that she's got a friend named Becky nearby and that we could walk to her house.
Good. Last thing I need is to knock on all the doors of the people here. I happen to know some of them and the last thing I need is this getting back to anyone and having it circle around my friends. That would be humilating. So we walked. And walked. And walked. After about twenty minutes of walking (by which her slippers are already destroyed), I feel the need to ask "Just how far are we going?" "Not far," she says. "We're really close, I swear." Right. As people continue to stare at her torn up slippers and dirty pj's and my not-too-hot appearance, I seriously am dying for a bag over my face at this point. At least no one will know it's me.
But after several more minutes of walking, we finally arrive at a house. She doesn't even bother to knock before just walking right in. What? Whoa! I slow her down and scold her, which leads into an arguement (I'm not her mother and I'm not her boss and I don't tell her what to do, etc. etc) After about several minutes of bickering, I hear a guy's voice from the top of the stairs. I look up. Face falls. "Hi Larry." One of my college buddies. Joy. Face heating, I explain the situation. He's pretty cool with it and he lets us use the phone. Shelly's mother is far from thrilled. Oh, I'm an expert in human behavior. See, when the peron on the other end's voice starts getting high and questioning my sanity as well as my intelligence as well as whether I was a crazy female canine...well...that just means that the chick ain't about to give me a raise anytime soon. So she's got to leave work early and sends someone to the house to pick us up while she heads home to unlock it for us. Turns out that it's Becky. Becky aint' a kid. Becky is the auditor for *my* job. Apparently Becky is also friends with Shelly's mother and Becky used to watch over Shelly. Joyous of joys.
So then she drives us to the house. Shelly runs up ahead, only to be told off by her mother which can be clearly heard in the next state. Oh man. Then when I finally get to the door, it's my turn. Essentially a repeat of what happened on the phone, she chews me out for the blackness on the microwave and the ceiling, the bowls of melted ice cream on the coffee table, the TV's still on and the general disarray in the house that comes with watching a 9-year-old that I normally have taken care of before she gets back. After this and telling me not to come back, I mumble apologies, grab my purse and head home.
Later that night, she calls up and apologizes. Stunned, I open my mouth and about drop the piece of bologna sandwich from my mouth. After she had calmed down, she had looked at the situation and found it pretty funny. She knew I was quirky from the get-go but even that had taken the cake. I was free to come back. Yay! After some bit of random chatter, we hang up and I go to bed in high spirits....which last until the next time I babysit when Shelly goes and dials 911 on me.
Oh joy. I love babysitting.