I am thousands upon thousands of dollars in debt, thanks to five years of a private university education dedicated to a degree in elementary education. I graduated last May and, with the nature of hiring in elementary schools being what it is around here, I was not lucky enough to land a job right away. We’re still holding our breath for this upcoming year, but in the meantime I’ve been babysitting like crazy — it allows me to pay what’s required on my loans for now, puts gas in my car and I even have a little spending money sometimes.
And crazy it is. I love kids, and I always have. Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest of four, maybe it’s because I’m still kind of a kid at heart myself. Whatever it is, I’m that one friend who, when you’re at the grocery store or Target or the mall, will somehow wind up talking to someone else’s four-year-old for five minutes about the dress she’s wearing, the toy she just got and her plans to eat chicken nuggets with Grandma in the food court. And no one thinks it’s creepy.
So, what’s a strangely adept with children and overly responsible unemployed college graduate to do? Well, babysit, of course. I put my profile up on sittercity.com and Craigslist, and before I knew it I had more clients than I knew what to do with. Some of them are wonderful. Some … not so much. I give to you now Rainbow’s guide to the care and keeping of babysitters.
- Manners, manners, manners. I work for you, yes, but I am not your servant. An imperial “Bring me some juice!” from the couch is not going to work here. It is not my job to teach your kid how to ask for things politely, but I am certainly going to try. I can tell when manners aren’t enforced. The child gave me a look as though I’d grown a second head and was speaking French when I said, “Do you mean ‘May I have some juice, please?'”
- If there are routines, let me know! You know what’s really fun? A screaming 3-year-old at 7:25 when bedtime is 7:30. She needs her nubby, and she needs it now, but I have no idea what a nubby is. Is it a blanket? A doll? A bear? A cup of milk? Tell me, for the love of all that is holy, what a nubby is, because she’s upset and may not yet be able to tell me. Preferably, show me the nubby before you leave or I will interrupt your dinner with an urgent nubby text message. Sorry.
- Similarly, let me know if your kids are on a schedule. Kids are tricky, and they’re sneaky. Snack at 3 o’clock and then nothing until dinner at 5? I need to know. Don’t assume your 8-year-old will tell me. He won’t. He will try to get some popcorn out of me at 4:30, though. Yes, he will. Yes, your angel. I know. I couldn’t believe it either. No TV after 7 o’clock? Forget about it. Unless you tell me, it’s likely not happening.
- Enforce limits. Kids need them. I’m not a parent, but I can understand how it would be hard to say “No” to the light of your life. Really, I do. Unfortunately, never saying “No” makes my job a lot harder (not to mention that of your child’s teacher or daycare provider). No, no, no. Especially if it’s the kind of job where we will be heading out into civilization — No you may not have a snack from the machine, no I cannot buy you a present, no we cannot ride the $5 zoo carousel. Again. No, no, NO.
- Send your kids outside once in a while. Or at least turn the TV off and pull out paper and crayons or dress-up clothes. I am starting to find myself invested in the plot lines of iCarly and Suite Life on Deck, and if you allow them to watch TV all the time there is no WAY I’m going to be able to interest them in anything else. And trust me, it won’t be for lack of trying.
- Act as though you’re at least slightly interested in how our day or night went when you return home. More often than not, I will have things to tell you — somebody had a tantrum, someone else wet her pants, sister and brother got in a knock-down, drag-out fight over the last Oreo. Act like you want to hear it. Dads, this point is mostly for you — I don’t know why, but with some families when Dad comes home before Mom I’m lucky sometimes if I get a “See ya”. Letting myself out while you head upstairs is awkward.
- Show me how your TV set-up works. If you don’t, don’t blame me when you get home and your cable’s been reprogrammed and the DVD player is formatted in German. I was just trying to watch Bravo but your sixteen remotes and triple surround sound got in my way.
- Make it clear what you are willing to pay. My rates are flexible, but not everybody operates that way. In turn, I will let you know what I charge. This is usually the first thing I cover with a new family, but it’s disheartening to get a wad of money that turns out to be $40 for a whole night of work. Yes, a good, mature, responsible sitter will likely charge between $10 and $13 an hour, depending on how many kids and their ages. Be prepared to pay it, or ask the 8th grader down the block.
- If you are lucky enough to find a babysitter who won’t just turn on the TV and sit back and text her friends, who won’t use, ah, colorful language around your kids or let them watch movies or shows that are inappropriate, who actually likes your children and can talk to them and make them feel special and loved, hold on to her with all your might. Pay her well, ask about what’s happening in her life, and trust her choices.
- Obvious final point is obvious, but if there are allergies or asthma or ear infections. Tell. Me. And show me where the Epi-Pen is, the inhalers, the antibiotics. Show me what the dosage is. Tell me when it needs to be administered.
Over the past year I’ve worked with all kinds of families, all kinds of kids and all kinds of television set-ups. Do yourself, and your favorite babysitter, a favor. If I think your kids are obnoxious, imagine what people think of them when you’re out in public. Imagine what their teachers think. Imagine what will happen when they wind up out in society somewhere. Obviously there are so many families who do a great job and have wonderful kids and it’s a joy to spend an evening with them. Unfortunately, this isn’t true for everybody. Make my job easier and communicate with me, and we will all be fine — nubby or no.
Photo from phillipshannon‘s Flickr.
