Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Broken

LizzieLou | accident prone,employment history,nablopomo | Sunday, November 2nd, 2008

My first paying jobs were babysitting gigs. The first baby I sat for was my sister, but I don’t think I got to collect on those. I did a pretty good job, except for this one time later on. I got home from school and started drinking all the leftover wine and eating all the leftover cake from my Dad’s 50th birthday party the weekend before. I welcomed my sister home from kindergarten, got her a snack, and watched a little Thundercats. Then I drunk-dialed my friend I loved to tell her how much I loved her. Then I passed out. Then I threw up. Then I was in the basement trying to wash out my clothes. Then the garage door opened. My dad came home. I passed out again and he’s mocked me about it ever since.

Before I became delinquent I spent a summer being the daytime sitter for a kid down the street. He was only a few years younger than I was, but I guess his mother thought I was a better option than leaving him alone, and cheaper than a real nanny. It was bit like having a younger brother. We spent most days playing; of course we had to play crap he wanted to play. This included playing GI Joes, golf on the front lawn, realtor-and-buyer (a company his mother worked for), and number of law enforcement games. (He is now a real police detective.) We watched a lot of television, and made a point of stopping whatever we were doing to watch Inspector Gadget. We ate a lot of those plastic sleeves of frozen fruit-flavored goo. Once, against my better judgment, we attempted to make taffy. This resulted in rock-hard and glass-sharp sugar burned on the bottom of his mother’s cookware. It kept cutting me as I tried to chisel it out. She couldn’t have been too pleased about that. Some days we would rollerskate, until I attempted to skate down a very small grass covered slope and sprained my wrist.

The best part of this gig was that they had an in-ground pool with a deep-end and a diving board. I had some lifeguard training with the Girl Scouts. The kid was a good swimmer, so I was really able to have a good time in the pool. I used to like to push-up hard from the bottom of the pool and burst through the surface like Superman flying, until I burst up under the diving board and met it with the bridge of my nose. Broken? Maybe. It bulged up, but I pushed it back down, twice, and iced it. Good as new.

When I was in high school I started doing regular evening gigs for a family from church. They had a baby girl (who is now a conservative co-ed in Florida) and a very skitchy Siamese cat that I believed to be possessed by the Devil. When the kid wasn’t screaming herself purple it was a pretty easy job. Even after her younger brother (who is now a rednecky soldier dude) came on the scene it was pretty peachy. A little feeding, a little changing, and off to bed. I could spend the rest of the time eating snacks (a small amount from all the multiple offerings of chips and cookies, as to not be a piggo and eat a large and noticeable amount from just one item) and watching Cable TV. That was the best! Movies with boobies!

While there were perks, it wasn’t a job without occasional excitement. There was the time one of the kids convinced me that her parents let her chew gum, and then she started choking. There was that Xmas when the mother drove me home, totally drunk and hiccuping. Then there was the time I had one kid in the high chair and the other one had an accident in her rubber pull-on pants. I quickly brought her into the bathroom and ran upstairs for a clean pair, not wanting to leave either kid alone for more than half a minute. While running back down the carpeted stairs I slipped and landed badly, messing up my ligaments in my ankle, and spent the rest of the evening crawling around and the first half of the summer on crutches.

(Yay. Crutches. They used to be fun.)



  1. My god. Good thing you’ve never heard of these Heelys things. It sounds like you can barely walk without hurting yourself.

    Comment by eelaine — November 4, 2008 @ 1:02 pm

  2. No kidding about the Heelys! My friend’s spouse broke his fibula on some stairs on Halloween. I was half expecting your post about the Heelys to end badly. I was reading your post to Lolly and she exclaimed in concern. She is going to make some Fibular Awareness Ribbons or some rubber bracelets or somethings.

    Comment by LizzieLou — November 4, 2008 @ 2:42 pm

  3. Oh man, I almost killed myself last night in the hallway — fell backwards and caught myself on the walls, was literally hanging at a 45-degree angle until I could pull myself up again. Why did I tear off that sticker that waived my rights to sue? I’m still determined though. I’ve spent too much damn money to give up now.

    Comment by eelaine — November 6, 2008 @ 10:12 am

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