Christmas Countdown 2023….Day 14

Since I am on a kick of revisiting my babysitting efforts over the years, I have to share my post-raking leaves stints of watching children for parents who were out on the town. The first family I babysat for lived across the street, right next door to Miss C’Zelma. I was probably about thirteen at the time.

This family had two children, a toddler and an infant.The first opportunity I had to change the latter’s messy diaper, I remember breathing a prayer of thanks between gags that my mom was right across the street. A quick call and she was there to rescue me.

While I was most grateful for her help with that mess, I knew better than to call her when this colicky infant continued to scream incessantly for long stretches of time. I knew my mom would have even less patience than me with this red-faced child. Dealing with a crying infant was never her forte. 

I remember questioning ever having children of my own if gross diapers and colic were part of the requirements. I would sit holding this boiling mass of anger and pain and feel so helpless. Finally, eventually, the baby would succumb to sleep and I could lay her down. 

The only other thing I remember about this particular family was that they kept a tin or two of Charles Chips in the pantry. Always. If you have never had Charles Chips, these were delivered to your door in rather large round tins like gift popcorn comes in. They were the thinnest, crispiest, most delicious chips I have ever eaten in my life. 

How good were they? Good enough to keep me coming back to baby sit until that family moved. But I never did get over calling my mom when a serious diaper issue erupted. 

Another job I had in the neighborhood was for a college professor. There were three children in the family, but the parents had a policy that each could have as many friends over as was deemed necessary, even when a sitter was in the house. I have blanked a lot of this resume entry from my memory.

I do recall that the three blood relatives of my employer were a handful. And they seemed to attract like-minded buddies. I remember vividly standing outside on summer evenings with a circus of kids doing dangerous feats on their well-used play set and running around like it was  spring break on Daytona Beach. 

After sitting for them through many an exhausting evening, my friends told me this family was grossly underpaying me. I had to agree that 50 cents an hour for their three hooligans and all the rest of the neighborhood kid population seemed a bit low. Finally I cranked up the courage to tell the dad that I would like 75 cents an hour. 

This was my first experience of getting fired. He was not at all pleased with me and told me that he knew plenty of college girls who would be happy to sit for them for two bits an hour. I bid him well and headed home. My mom said it was the best decision I had made for a long while. 

There was also the large house out in the country with strange African masks on the walls. At one point, I heard some odd noises down one of the halls and discovered a locked room. This treat of a house also had a cat that lurked around and literally had what appeared to be a knot tied in its tail. I was driving at that point of my babysitting career and thankful I didn’t have to ride home with the dad. I was quite relieved when I was able to head home, but I do remember checking the back seat frequently, hoping and praying I was alone. That was a one and done for me. 

Other jobs included inebriated fathers driving me home, picking up toys and washing dishes after the tots were finally asleep, trying to decide if the “my mom always lets me _______” was true or false, and kids who wouldn’t go to bed no matter what I did. Yet there were others who snuggled and were so sweet they made me think maybe I hadn’t failed as a sitter after all. 

Some of this might explain my concern as a young mom that I was qualified to handle the job of caring for children. I did overcome my aversion to difficult diaper changes and was delighted to discover that God gave me a deep love for our own children that strengthened me for those frustrating bouts of inexplicable crying fits, bedtime procrastination, endless cleanup of clothes and toys and other struggles that seemed rather large to teenaged me. 

Of course, I still found as I cared for our brood that a visit to the pantry for some salty, crispy chips does wonders for the morale of a tired care giver.

 Hmmm; I wonder if Charles Chips delivers to our area.