All Strung out

We tumble into the house after school and greet the new potential babysitter. Hopefully in one hour from now, we shall have found our perfect match in return for the three hour minimum charge.

Our extra play date victim introduces herself, “Hi I’m Felicity, I’m here all the time so you’re gonna have to get to know me too.” I blink as I think. I sincerely hope this is wishful thinking rather her future reality. My own children are otherwise immediately occupied with dogs and cats and Nonna.

I interview and brief the babysitter by modeling. She stands by the kitchen door as we exchange information. Homework is on hold whilst I juggle. I juggle snacks, enquiries and queries from the five humans in my care, the usual blur of activity.

My daughter brings Thatcher back into the house after a frolic in the garden and talks to him as she towels him dry, “poor ickle wickle puppy is frozen cold.” Immediately we have a dose of the usual, a piercing scream of horror from my youngest as he hurls himself to the floor in a reverie of agony, “oh no! My dog is froze. I don wan a popsicle dog.” I glance at the baby sitter, “did I mention that he’s rather………er…….highly strung?” I scoop him up as there is no point in talking to the literal, far better to offer him the evidence of his own eyes. The eyes of the baby sitter are no longer glazed but gleam, with a slight tincture of alarm. I park him vertically, in front of Thatcher who pants and scratches and shows every degree of being alive and well. Poging, of the gleeful variety, overtakes him as he throws his arms around the furry neck, “ooo my own twoo dog, you are be alive!” he coos in the most beguiling of tones.

After 45 minutes in our company, I sign the papers to release the babysitter. I watch as she skuttles down the path, without so much as a backwards glance.

Goldilocks, don’t let the bears win

I ensure that I have a full hour to devote to the babysitter prior to our departure. This enables me to run over the rules and remind her of where everything is. I am determined that this shall be a successful relationship for all of us.

“So there’s just one last thing that I wanted to draw your attention to.”
“Yes?”
“The boys sleep in the same room in separate beds. She’s next door in her own bed. Both the boys wear pull-ups and I’ve left them here on the side for you.”
“O.k. No problem.”
“Great, it’s just that a while back we came home to find that they were all in the same bed. The boys didn’t have pull ups on which meant we had to give everyone a bath and change the sheets, which wasn’t much fun at 11 at night, if you know what I mean?”
“How did that happen?”
“I’m really not sure, but they managed to convince the sitter that they all slept in the same bed and that they didn’t need pull-ups!”
“How strange! Did you tell the sitter that they slept in separate beds and that the boys wear pull-ups?” I look at her for a moment, uncertain how to proceed.
“You know to tell the truth, I showed her the bedrooms and the beds and the pull ups, but I can’t be certain that I made myself understood. That’s why I’m telling you now, just so that there can’t be any misunderstandings.” I smile, in what I hope is a warm and sincere manner.
“Well, you know, everyone knows that boys and girls don’t sleep in the same bed!” This was not the response I was expecting. We live in the Western world, where it is less common for children to share a bed. There are three children and three beds. Is it wise to leave an adult in charge who has no matching skills?
“Indeed.”