(no subject)
I babysat for my mom's friends, Elvira and Jack the Ripper, exactly once, over two years ago.
Elvira and Jack the Ripper were lovely people, parents straight from the dreams of every teenager, perfect and beautiful and clean-cut with the most gorgeous house. Beyond that, they were actually nice people. Elvira once wrapped my mom's Christmas presents after my dad tired of them. Jack the Ripper was a stimulating conversationalist, and kept me engaged the entire car ride with intellectual talk. The pay was fabulous. Over nine dollars an hour- more than I'd ever been paid to babysit.
This couple had two adorable children, sons, six and eight, who will henceforth be referred to as Thing One and Thing Two. These little boys are the reason their parents are made out to be so shady- while I have no evidence that the people themselves are evil, the law of genetics states that they must be in at least some small measure because it is statistically impossible to have two spontaneous mutations. If the children are the Spawn of Satan, one of the parents must be Satan, right?
This, you see, is why I still harbor battle scars from that night.
The elder, Thing One, I had been pre-warned by my mother had tested positive for ADHD at a young age. I, however, was not supposed to know this. Interestingly, Thing One was not the problem. In fact, I had forgotten that it was Thing One and not Thing Two who had been the problem child.
Thing Two, at age six, I remain convinced, had psychically absorbed the Exorcist. I couldn't keep up with him. It wasn't excitable little boy hard to handle. It was wild hyena hard to handle.
First he wanted a second dessert stick. Whatever, I told myself. It'll do more harm to me to fight with him now than it will do him to have it. This may have been a grievous mistake on my part. Then there were the card games. Oh, the card games. I remember that I almost would've had fun if it weren't for the two cards that ended up ruined.
The other wild hyena in the house was the beagle puppy, who will henceforth be called Dog, and let that imply all that it implies. Dog ran around wild the entire night, fighting with me over toys and cards and socks and sometimes my own belongings with a growling, semi-playful ferocity that was frightening. I am not afraid of dogs. Beagles are remarkably un-terrifying. Dog came close to actually scaring me.
When it was finally time to put the boys and Dog to bed, none were buying it. Things One and Two wanted to be allowed to finish their television show. After that, Dog ran us on a wild hyena chase that led us to all sorts of rooms in the house where Dog was not normally allowed to go. After being told "she'll go right in; the boys will help you," it took an astonishing half-hour to get her in the cage.
By this point, of course, everyone is tired, I am stressed near to tears, and they boys are up way past their bedtime. And what happens? Thing Two begins to cry. I had been warned that this might happen. I had a list of numbers to call if he missed them and needed to talk to Elvira before sleeping. I was counting on it. I had not counted on it being over a half an hour late.
After speaking to Elvira, Things One and Two got ready for bed and into it with little resistance, although Thing Two insisted on being allowed to sleep in Elvira and Jack the Ripper's bed, as well as on me staying upstairs, which I did until he was safely asleep. I had brought along a tome, and as such was able to wait him out peacefully.
After that escapade, I was neither surprised nor dismayed when I did not get a return call. They had a regular babysitter, probably one who knew how to handle their rambunctious Things and matching Hellhound.
Well, I've been asked back. Granted, their kids are now eight and ten, and it will probably be easier. But it will not just be their kids. There is a possibility that another coupld will also be leaving their little darlings, a boy and girl, around the same age(s) as the Things.
Elvira came to my mom. My mom called me. And, like a fool, I accepted.
It wasn't until I was off the phone that I began having flashbacks to the first time I babysat for those hellish children and that awful dog.
What was I thinking? I can't handle this. I am an idiot.
Elvira and Jack the Ripper were lovely people, parents straight from the dreams of every teenager, perfect and beautiful and clean-cut with the most gorgeous house. Beyond that, they were actually nice people. Elvira once wrapped my mom's Christmas presents after my dad tired of them. Jack the Ripper was a stimulating conversationalist, and kept me engaged the entire car ride with intellectual talk. The pay was fabulous. Over nine dollars an hour- more than I'd ever been paid to babysit.
This couple had two adorable children, sons, six and eight, who will henceforth be referred to as Thing One and Thing Two. These little boys are the reason their parents are made out to be so shady- while I have no evidence that the people themselves are evil, the law of genetics states that they must be in at least some small measure because it is statistically impossible to have two spontaneous mutations. If the children are the Spawn of Satan, one of the parents must be Satan, right?
This, you see, is why I still harbor battle scars from that night.
The elder, Thing One, I had been pre-warned by my mother had tested positive for ADHD at a young age. I, however, was not supposed to know this. Interestingly, Thing One was not the problem. In fact, I had forgotten that it was Thing One and not Thing Two who had been the problem child.
Thing Two, at age six, I remain convinced, had psychically absorbed the Exorcist. I couldn't keep up with him. It wasn't excitable little boy hard to handle. It was wild hyena hard to handle.
First he wanted a second dessert stick. Whatever, I told myself. It'll do more harm to me to fight with him now than it will do him to have it. This may have been a grievous mistake on my part. Then there were the card games. Oh, the card games. I remember that I almost would've had fun if it weren't for the two cards that ended up ruined.
The other wild hyena in the house was the beagle puppy, who will henceforth be called Dog, and let that imply all that it implies. Dog ran around wild the entire night, fighting with me over toys and cards and socks and sometimes my own belongings with a growling, semi-playful ferocity that was frightening. I am not afraid of dogs. Beagles are remarkably un-terrifying. Dog came close to actually scaring me.
When it was finally time to put the boys and Dog to bed, none were buying it. Things One and Two wanted to be allowed to finish their television show. After that, Dog ran us on a wild hyena chase that led us to all sorts of rooms in the house where Dog was not normally allowed to go. After being told "she'll go right in; the boys will help you," it took an astonishing half-hour to get her in the cage.
By this point, of course, everyone is tired, I am stressed near to tears, and they boys are up way past their bedtime. And what happens? Thing Two begins to cry. I had been warned that this might happen. I had a list of numbers to call if he missed them and needed to talk to Elvira before sleeping. I was counting on it. I had not counted on it being over a half an hour late.
After speaking to Elvira, Things One and Two got ready for bed and into it with little resistance, although Thing Two insisted on being allowed to sleep in Elvira and Jack the Ripper's bed, as well as on me staying upstairs, which I did until he was safely asleep. I had brought along a tome, and as such was able to wait him out peacefully.
After that escapade, I was neither surprised nor dismayed when I did not get a return call. They had a regular babysitter, probably one who knew how to handle their rambunctious Things and matching Hellhound.
Well, I've been asked back. Granted, their kids are now eight and ten, and it will probably be easier. But it will not just be their kids. There is a possibility that another coupld will also be leaving their little darlings, a boy and girl, around the same age(s) as the Things.
Elvira came to my mom. My mom called me. And, like a fool, I accepted.
It wasn't until I was off the phone that I began having flashbacks to the first time I babysat for those hellish children and that awful dog.
What was I thinking? I can't handle this. I am an idiot.