When I was about 17 I took a job babysitting three kids before and after school. Now, all three of these kids were kooky. The oldest a girl: was bossy and loud and was always right. The second a boy: was clumsy and forgetful and needed help with math. The youngest boy was hilarious, even with his lisp and his constantly running nose he was my favourite. But then it's always easy to love the baby, and being "this many*insert all five fingers* ywars ode", who wouldn't? Their Momma would drop them off at my house at 7:30 and I would take them to school, walking of course, except the eldest girl who took a bus from the corner to her french immersion school. And when she was gone the boys and I would walk/play all the way to school, which she thought was immature. She was a very mature grade 5. Throughout the school year, I gave the youngest nightmares by watching Kindergarten Cop. The middle boy lost his pants and the Girl would just tattle on me all the live long day. I remember one day when I picked them up from school; the youngest was wearing different clothes than the ones I had dropped him off in. Upon asking him what happened, he informed me they were lost and found clothes. While waiting for the answer to why he was wearing a stranger's outfit, he told me he had "fawen into a pudduo up to he-yor"*insert a hand a foot above his head. Despite not being the ideal role model and having a pretty sketchy track record when summer came I was upgraded to their fulltime babysitter. Summer is great for kiddies but their Momma still had to work...So... Let's put the pieces together... I started babysitting them at 7:30 am at their house and stayed until 4:30 a demanding job, for a 17 year old.
Our routine would go as follows. I would drag myself out of bed at ten minutes to 7 and race around getting dressed. Jumping into my Chevy Lumina I sped the back roads all the way and managed to make it just in time...barely. Then their Momma would tell me what to make for lunch and she would leave. Kids being kids and it being summer they wouldn't wake up until 8:30, and in the time between I would sleep on the sofa. On more than one occasion I woke to find them all sitting on the sofa beside me watching Phantom Menace, the house fav at the time. Then it was time for toast and jam, mandatory 1 hour outside time and maybe a movie or craft depending on my enthusiasm level and the Girl's demeanour. She loved crafts and sometimes I didn't want her to have fun; there I said it, I was a petty teenager. We quickly feel into a rhythm. A lazy summer beat.
One morning that changed. Having fallen asleep in the typical way I once again awoke to the pod race screaming through their surround sound. While rousing from my slumber, I heard another noise. A shuffling, a scratching, a what was that...was that a squeaking? type sound. Pausing the movie- a VHS by the way- we all listened together. Suddenly, as if on cue a bat flew out of the chimney and began circling the room. In a normal household this would have raised screams of "it's in my hair!" but not here. The weekend earlier their family had gone to Science North a wonderful place with an extensive bat exhibit. These 3 youngsters remained calm, knowing that a bat uses sonar to locate objects and that this tiny little herbivore was trapped inside and only wanted out, so he could go to bed. I myself have never had a problem with bats, so I calmly walked to the screen door and held it open to our flying friend. All with the stillness and dignity of 4 smart kids respecting nature. Cue the three legged tabby; a cat that only moved to follow a sun spot across the floor... With the sudden focus of a jungle cat, this tabby leapt from 3 legs to snatch the bat mid air. Only to have the problem of, now that I've got it pinned beneath my one front leg, how do I get this twitchingly delicious morsel in my mouth? Back to the stunned audience...screams arise from 4 mouthes in shocking harmony. Which sends the tabby into a frenzy, who then grabs the flapping bat in it's teeth and makes for the bedrooms upstairs. Three screaming children!! The bat, oh no, Tabby got the bat!!! And now it's eating it in your Momma's bedroom. Ordering all 3 outside I race up the stairs in hopes that the bat if not still alive is at least not a bloody mess on the sheets. Which of course it is. Storming out past 3 still crying kids, asking if Batty is alright I get a shovel, prepare a burial and strip the bed. I am in tears at this point, the babysitting course did not prepare me for this. With the sheets in the laundry, I arrive in the kitchen just as their Momma calls for the mid-morning check in. Consoling me and cajoling me, she says the best way to fix this situation is to go outside and have popsicles. Yeah, right, but you know it's just crazy enough to work.
Walking outside to see 3 glum faces suddenly light up with the thought of mid-morning popsicles. Problem solved right? As the 4 of us are licking our drippy frozen juice, the middle boy starts asking to play Squeeze, a local game, like baseball but with only 3 players, to which the youngest boys whines that he will be left out again, my response is, I'll pitch so they can all play, as long as they set it up. So, they agree and go to the shed, unpacking the bases, the gloves, the bats and the ball. Sitting behind home plate, finishing my popsicle, I start to think, today might actually turn out okay. Before I've finished the thought, another bat swoops down across the deck and towards me, the middle kid who's setting up with bat in hand shrieks like he's having flashbacks of wartime. Swings the bat with all his gusto and knocks one out of the park...Hitting me square in the nose with a Louisville. Crumpling like a paper doll, I sink to the deck, 3 sets of children's shoes huddled around me. "I phink she's dead." the youngest says. "She's not dead, she's faking." the girl snarked in her typical snotty voice. Frozen andWrapped a cocoon of pain, both emotional and physical, the blood streaming from my nose. So I did what any rational 17 year old does. I called my Momma. Bombing down the back roads, she pulls into the driveway and has everything humming along smoothly in minutes. All calm, cool and collected, the way the best Mommas are. Turns out that sometimes even though the cats are snatching and bats are swinging, you really just need a designated hitter to clean up. As for the kids, we lasted the summer, just barely, and after that I hung up my babysitting belt without batting an eye.
Our routine would go as follows. I would drag myself out of bed at ten minutes to 7 and race around getting dressed. Jumping into my Chevy Lumina I sped the back roads all the way and managed to make it just in time...barely. Then their Momma would tell me what to make for lunch and she would leave. Kids being kids and it being summer they wouldn't wake up until 8:30, and in the time between I would sleep on the sofa. On more than one occasion I woke to find them all sitting on the sofa beside me watching Phantom Menace, the house fav at the time. Then it was time for toast and jam, mandatory 1 hour outside time and maybe a movie or craft depending on my enthusiasm level and the Girl's demeanour. She loved crafts and sometimes I didn't want her to have fun; there I said it, I was a petty teenager. We quickly feel into a rhythm. A lazy summer beat.
One morning that changed. Having fallen asleep in the typical way I once again awoke to the pod race screaming through their surround sound. While rousing from my slumber, I heard another noise. A shuffling, a scratching, a what was that...was that a squeaking? type sound. Pausing the movie- a VHS by the way- we all listened together. Suddenly, as if on cue a bat flew out of the chimney and began circling the room. In a normal household this would have raised screams of "it's in my hair!" but not here. The weekend earlier their family had gone to Science North a wonderful place with an extensive bat exhibit. These 3 youngsters remained calm, knowing that a bat uses sonar to locate objects and that this tiny little herbivore was trapped inside and only wanted out, so he could go to bed. I myself have never had a problem with bats, so I calmly walked to the screen door and held it open to our flying friend. All with the stillness and dignity of 4 smart kids respecting nature. Cue the three legged tabby; a cat that only moved to follow a sun spot across the floor... With the sudden focus of a jungle cat, this tabby leapt from 3 legs to snatch the bat mid air. Only to have the problem of, now that I've got it pinned beneath my one front leg, how do I get this twitchingly delicious morsel in my mouth? Back to the stunned audience...screams arise from 4 mouthes in shocking harmony. Which sends the tabby into a frenzy, who then grabs the flapping bat in it's teeth and makes for the bedrooms upstairs. Three screaming children!! The bat, oh no, Tabby got the bat!!! And now it's eating it in your Momma's bedroom. Ordering all 3 outside I race up the stairs in hopes that the bat if not still alive is at least not a bloody mess on the sheets. Which of course it is. Storming out past 3 still crying kids, asking if Batty is alright I get a shovel, prepare a burial and strip the bed. I am in tears at this point, the babysitting course did not prepare me for this. With the sheets in the laundry, I arrive in the kitchen just as their Momma calls for the mid-morning check in. Consoling me and cajoling me, she says the best way to fix this situation is to go outside and have popsicles. Yeah, right, but you know it's just crazy enough to work.
Walking outside to see 3 glum faces suddenly light up with the thought of mid-morning popsicles. Problem solved right? As the 4 of us are licking our drippy frozen juice, the middle boy starts asking to play Squeeze, a local game, like baseball but with only 3 players, to which the youngest boys whines that he will be left out again, my response is, I'll pitch so they can all play, as long as they set it up. So, they agree and go to the shed, unpacking the bases, the gloves, the bats and the ball. Sitting behind home plate, finishing my popsicle, I start to think, today might actually turn out okay. Before I've finished the thought, another bat swoops down across the deck and towards me, the middle kid who's setting up with bat in hand shrieks like he's having flashbacks of wartime. Swings the bat with all his gusto and knocks one out of the park...Hitting me square in the nose with a Louisville. Crumpling like a paper doll, I sink to the deck, 3 sets of children's shoes huddled around me. "I phink she's dead." the youngest says. "She's not dead, she's faking." the girl snarked in her typical snotty voice. Frozen andWrapped a cocoon of pain, both emotional and physical, the blood streaming from my nose. So I did what any rational 17 year old does. I called my Momma. Bombing down the back roads, she pulls into the driveway and has everything humming along smoothly in minutes. All calm, cool and collected, the way the best Mommas are. Turns out that sometimes even though the cats are snatching and bats are swinging, you really just need a designated hitter to clean up. As for the kids, we lasted the summer, just barely, and after that I hung up my babysitting belt without batting an eye.
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