Showing posts with label babysitting friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babysitting friends. Show all posts

Monday, October 27, 2008

List of References

I was telling someone recently about the laundry list of families I've babysat for in my ten-year, ahem, career. (I obviously cling to that fact.) When I said I've put upwards of one hundred children to bed, those eyebrows sure raised, but I'm thinking my estimate is spot on. Here's my list...starting at the very beginning.

Abby, Luke, and Emilee
Erin and Morgan
Heather, Lacey, and Conner
Jonathon, Olivia, Aubrey, and Sam
Allison and Lindy
Alyssa, Stephanie, Alex, and that middle one that liked to snuggle
Nick and Aly
The three kids on the cul-de-sac whose mom NEVER vacuumed
Annie and her two sisters that vomited in Stonegate
Kylie and her brother (lived across from Abby and Emilee)
Nathan and his gorgeous blond sister (Mom named Valerie, Dad with mullet)
Macy, Mallory and Meredith
Christian and Bre
Aaron the brown-eyed wonder
Magnolia family with BMW and insomniac girl and boy
Meredith on Mercer Island
Alex and Elise
Maya and Stella
Cline and Henry (I'm Kelsey's stand-in)
Aidan (once)
Jack and Scout
Jillian and Willa
The Eckerts (Aubree's stand-in, once or twice)
Max and Sebastian
Ezra and Sol
Clara and Annabelle
Henry and Katy
Collin and Miriam
Nia and Gabrielle

Okay, so that's 62. BUT THAT IS A LOT OF TWINKLE TWINKLE. And I bet my mom will remember at least five more.

EDIT: I already thought of four more: Hailey, Haden, Connor and Grace

Sunday, October 12, 2008

There will be no white flag above my door...

I'm a babysitter. The kind that starts in seventh grade and then catalogs the children she has loved and kissed goodnight and played dress up with and buried in sand at the beach and stuck bandaids on and put in timeout and said goodbye to when they moved away. In fact, 2008 marks my own personal silver anniversary of babysitting. So I feel like I've come a long way.

Which is why I am no longer interested in taking care of kids whose wealthy parents refuse to treat me like an adult. I am not thirteen anymore, thank you very much, and no, I will not let you round down my work hours when you talk my ear off because you've come home from suuuuuuch a good movie. There are too many families in my life that have invested in me, taken me into their homes, allowed me to soak up their good juju and learn from their love. I don't have time for you anymore, and I'd rather go without a latte than spend the evening looking at your expensive drapes, knowing you'll try and cheat me out of a measly five bucks.

So today I wrote an email to a person who lives in what I would guess is at LEAST a million dollar home in Seattle, and it felt really good to stick up for myself. "I understand that you typically pay less than $15 an hour for your three preschool children, but I am doing my best to make ends meet (let alone get ahead) in a city that has sky-high education costs and not enough affordable housing, so you'll understand when I say I simply don't have time to feel guilty about my prices. All the best."

Yours,

Holly Wood V.B.Ex. (that's Veteran Babysitter Extraordinaire)

EDIT: Yes, I got the lyrics wrong and changed the title. Sorry, Dido.