Tales of Babysitter Woe (subtitle: Why it is bad to teach your kids your cell number)

Last night Adam and I went to his office Christmas Party. This is an annual event that Adam's employers graciously sponsor, and every year we have to scramble to find a babysitter. This year, we asked my coworker's teenaged son to babysit. He had never babysit for us before, but he's taken care of the cats -- how much harder could the kids be?

Admittedly, I did have a moment's pause because he is a boy, although I'm not sure why. I had occasional "boy" babysitters when I was a kid, and nothing bad happened -- usually boy babysitters were actually more fun than girl babysitters -- but I guess being suspicious of boy babysitters is the "in" thing for overcautious parents these days. I was a little concerned that Xavier would be more than he could handle, but it turns out that Xavier was not the problem ... but I get ahead of myself.

At first, it looked like this "boy babysitting experience" was going to be much the same as the ones I remembered from my childhood. My coworker dropped his son off, and the boy -- we'll call him "Edmund" -- immediately started jousting with Xavier while Gwen watched and laughed.

Chinese takeout was distributed, and we were just about to head for the door when Edmund suddenly erupted in a volley of sneezes, the like of which I have never seen before.

"Are you allergic to cats?" I asked. Of course, what I was actually thinking was, "Are you sick?" but I was trying to be diplomatic. Still, thanks to Xav, I have become somewhat of an expert on cold symptoms, and this seemed excessive for that.

"Yeah," Edmund snuffled. "On top of that, my sister just got a puppy."

"Do you need to go home?" I asked, concerned.

"Oh, no, I'll be fine," he said. So, with some trepidation (on my part -- Adam never worries), we headed out.

The party was wonderful -- the food was good, the company good, and we were in the middle of a game when my cellphone started ringing. "Uh oh," I thought, and I excused myself to take the call. I ended up having to step out into the freezing rain to hear anything, because the caller was talking softly.

"Mom," Gwen whispered, "I just used the potty, and it won't flush. I think it is backed up."

I stifled a laugh. "That's okay, Gwen, just put a garbage can on it and ask the boys to use the bathroom upstairs."

"Mom, I think you need to come home now."

"Why, is it running over onto the floor?"

"No."

"I think it will wait until we get home, then."

There was a pause. Suddenly I heard Xavier's voice on the line, whispering. "Mom, I think you need to come home now."

"Why?"

"Because the potty is backed up."

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Well, the babysitter has a headache, and he doesn't want to play. I think he might be lazy."

"Where is he now?"

"Sitting on the sofa, playing with Legos."

Only the cats' favorite piece of furniture. "Does he know you are calling?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know what about."

Deciding it was probably best that we end the babysitter's misery, we came home, which is probably a good thing because he was still machine-gun sneezing. I felt bad, because it was clear he had been trying -- he'd been playing cards with the kids, there were other games out, he'd washed the dinner dishes, and even as he was waiting to leave he was trying to make the kids laugh. Clearly my kids have a higher expectation from their sitters than is probably realistic.

Still, in the interest of keeping him alive until he can graduate from high school, we'll probably not invite him to babysit again.


I've been really busy since before Thanksgiving, so I have been a little slack on the blog, and I apologize. Over Thanksgiving, we went to see my parents, and we took my niece Chloe with us. My parents' house is a little small to contain three active kids, so Adam took them to the playground down the street for a couple hours a day. In order to make the walk interesting, Adam suggested that they take turns playing Simon Says.

Xavier went first. "Simon Says -- run!" So the kids ran like crazy. When they slowed, my niece breathless, Gwen took a turn, then Chloe.

Then it was Xavier's turn again: "Simon Says -- run!"

Adam, noting that Chloe was already out of breath, said, "Xav, you picked that last time. Why don't you pick something else?"

"Oh, okay." Xavier thought for a second, then said, "Simon Says -- run as fast as you can!"

Well, I guess it was different, sort of.


We are late on our Christmas letter, but we do plan to work on it today. I'll be posting it here as well this year as the number of "electronic letter" requests has increased, but we will continue to send out paper copies, at least this year. Merry Christmas, everyone!