I have a babysitter coming to spend the night with the boys tonight. Annie and I are going to Ohio for my baby brother's high school graduation, so our awesome sitter Caitlin is staying here with the boys.
Because Caitlin has been babysitting for us for a couple of years -- and because she's one of 10 kids -- there's probably nothing about my house that could surprise her. But she's never spent the night before, so I'm a little nervous about making sure the house is well up to snuff.
That means I have to clean my room. She won't inherently know which crazy path to take to the bathroom in the middle of the night in order to avoid plowing through piles of clean but folded clothes. And clean sheets on the bed, especially since Robbie so kindly (and not tidily) ate a bunch of graham crackers in it last night.
Which reminds me, I need to warn her that Robbie will probably be climbing into bed with her around 2 am or so and when he does she should make him go potty before laying down.
I have to make sure there is toilet paper in all the bathrooms. TP is of course not just reserved for guests, but don't tell me you've never been in a bathroom and had to holler for someone to bring you some toilet paper because you didn't notice the roll was out.
And towels. Fresh, clean hand towels and bath towels. The ones that don't smell like they sat wet in the washing machine for too long.
Then there are the school clothes and shoes and backpacks to be laid out. And notes for breakfast in the morning. Nothing fancy -- cereal will do. If I get the time, maybe I'll make some peach cobbler. Charlie would appreciate that.
It seems like I should do something nice for Caitlin to enjoy after the boys go to bed. Maybe I'll ask if there is a Netflix instant download she'd like me to add to the queue. Or maybe just a cold Diet Coke. She's such a sweet girl that she'll probably say she doesn't need anything. Well, other than bed sheets that are not crunchy with graham cracker crumbs.
Showing posts with label babysitter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babysitter. Show all posts
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
WWYD
Annie has entered the world of babysitting. Actually, she's been doing it for a while now. A year, maybe longer.
Tonight she babysat for some neighbors. They have one little girl, about 2 years old. Baby E. was already asleep when Annie got there. Mom and Dad left, each to separate occasions. Dad arrived home first, not quite 3 hours later.
He gave Annie a check for $20!
She is only 13. Babysitting for just 1 kid. One slept-the-whole-time kid. I think $20 is too much. My first reaction was to tell her she should go there tomorrow and give them $10 back.
But then I started thinking about how I want her to value the service she provides. And how she has done some free babysitting without complaint for a friend of ours who is a newly single mom.
So, do we just consider the generous pay a kind of "what goes around comes around?" Should she give 1/2 back? Should just keep it all and make a donation with some of the money? Buy babysitting supplies with some of it?
What would you have your daughter do?
Tonight she babysat for some neighbors. They have one little girl, about 2 years old. Baby E. was already asleep when Annie got there. Mom and Dad left, each to separate occasions. Dad arrived home first, not quite 3 hours later.
He gave Annie a check for $20!
She is only 13. Babysitting for just 1 kid. One slept-the-whole-time kid. I think $20 is too much. My first reaction was to tell her she should go there tomorrow and give them $10 back.
But then I started thinking about how I want her to value the service she provides. And how she has done some free babysitting without complaint for a friend of ours who is a newly single mom.
So, do we just consider the generous pay a kind of "what goes around comes around?" Should she give 1/2 back? Should just keep it all and make a donation with some of the money? Buy babysitting supplies with some of it?
What would you have your daughter do?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Babysitter wanted. Pulse required.
I'm in desperate need of a babysitter to watch the kids tomorrow all day and in the morning on Friday. I've called and e-mailed six different sorority girls I've never met whose names came from a neighbor, hoping to find someone who can babysit.
Once upon a time -- back when I only had one child and was more, let's say "uptight," finding a babysitter would have gone something like this:
"So Miss Babysitter, I'm interested in possibly having you babysit for my Precious Dear. What is your major? Do you have much babysitting experience? Are you active in a mainstream church? Do you have any tattoos or piercings beyond your ears? Are you certified in CPR and first aid? Can you provide three references? What is your babysitting philosophy with regards to playtime and outdoor activities?"
Anyone who passed that rigorous examination would be invited to come spend a few hours with Precious while I was at home so that I could observe the interaction, Precious could get to know Miss Babysitter, and I could ask a few more questions.
"What are the top 10 choking foods for toddlers? Do you know when to administer syrup of Ipecac? Can you recognize poison ivy? Do you know how to sterilize a pacifier that's been dropped on the floor? What is the most number of consecutive times you've read Goodnight Moon?"
In the spirit of continuous process improvement, I have, over time, tweaked my babysitter interview questions. After all, I have the benefit of several years of experience as a mother, so I've refined the process to cover that which is most relevant.
"Do you have any felony charges pending against you? Are you available? You're hired."
Once upon a time -- back when I only had one child and was more, let's say "uptight," finding a babysitter would have gone something like this:
"So Miss Babysitter, I'm interested in possibly having you babysit for my Precious Dear. What is your major? Do you have much babysitting experience? Are you active in a mainstream church? Do you have any tattoos or piercings beyond your ears? Are you certified in CPR and first aid? Can you provide three references? What is your babysitting philosophy with regards to playtime and outdoor activities?"
Anyone who passed that rigorous examination would be invited to come spend a few hours with Precious while I was at home so that I could observe the interaction, Precious could get to know Miss Babysitter, and I could ask a few more questions.
"What are the top 10 choking foods for toddlers? Do you know when to administer syrup of Ipecac? Can you recognize poison ivy? Do you know how to sterilize a pacifier that's been dropped on the floor? What is the most number of consecutive times you've read Goodnight Moon?"
In the spirit of continuous process improvement, I have, over time, tweaked my babysitter interview questions. After all, I have the benefit of several years of experience as a mother, so I've refined the process to cover that which is most relevant.
"Do you have any felony charges pending against you? Are you available? You're hired."
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Adventures in Painting, part II
April 4, 2008
Recognizing Limitations
This experience making over our downstairs bathroom has led me to realize the value in recognizing one’s own limitations. I am creative – in an English composition sort of way. Not in a painting masterpieces – or walls – sort of way.
Though I had planned to take all of the kids’ Spring Break off from work, an event next week needed my attention, so I went to the office on Thursday. I wasn’t heartbroken as it gave me a legitimate reason to avoid painting another coat of Cheez Whiz, er, paint, in the bathroom.
Before I left, I remove the gallon of paint and the paint tray from the bathroom so no one would get any wise ideas about helping out while I was gone.
At about 2pm, I got a mildly panicked call from the babysitter. Robbie had been in the bathroom a little longer than usual.
“Oh no,” I thought. “He’s covered himself in poop.” No such luck.
The sitter, Sarah, went to check on him. “Robbie, are you ok?” she called through the door. To which he replied, “Yes, I’m just doing some painting!”
Hence, the panicked call. In my rush to get out the door, I had overlooked a paint roller, wrapped in plastic wrap, sitting in the sink. Robbie found it and had painted the toilet and the sink!
So I did what any other slightly warped (must be all the paint fumes) mother would do in that situation. I burst out laughing!
Sarah, thinking me a bit nuts, wasn’t sure what to do with my response.
I couldn’t really be angry with her or Robbie – I was the one who’d overlooked the roller. She was relieved when I told her that we are going to replace the toilet anyway.
“Just clean up what you can and I’ll deal with the rest when I get home.”
Then I had her put Robbie on the phone.
“Robbie?”
“Yes, Mommy,” said a contrite little voice that knew he was busted.
“What were you doing in the bathroom?”
“I was just painting a little.”
“Painting the bathroom is Mommy’s job, ok?”
“Ohh-kay,” came the reply, still a bit worried.
“If you want to paint, you ask Sarah to get paint out of the art closet and paint on PAPER.”
“Ohh-kay.”
I hung up the phone, thinking this latest development was pretty much par for the course of this painting adventure.
When I got home, I went into the bathroom to survey the damage. Sarah had done a good job getting up much of the paint. But about 30 minutes later, Charlie closed the door to use the bathroom and yelled “Mom! He painted the door, too!”
Sure enough, the back of the door has the mark of the mini painter. That’s not gonna be so easy to clean up, I’m afraid. Since the paint on the door had already dried, I was not in a huge hurry to tend to it. So, I close the door in denial and start to fix dinner.
Which led to the second paint-related discovery of the evening.
Let me just preface this by saying that if you ever build a house and they give you the option of installing a utility sink, spend the extra money and do it. We did not. Which is why I washed my paint tools out in the empty kitchen sink.
Well, apparently, I did not rinse the painty water down the drain enough or something else mechanically similar that I am not smart enough to figure out. Because when I opened the dishwasher to get out the clean dishes to set the table, streaks of painty water clung to about every other dish. Arrrgh!
So, now, in addition to painting two more coats of so-bright-I-gotta-wear-shades yellow and figuring out how to get the paint out of the grooves of the back of bathroom door – I’m thinking of turning it into modern art by slapping some other colors up there with the yellow and putting a frame around the whole mess; I had to unload the dishes, run an empty cycle through to clear out the water, re-load and re-wash all the dishes.
As Robbie would say in a situation like this, “Shout!”
Mike has forbidden me to ever paint anything again – including my fingernails. I have come to recognize my limitations as a handy-gal and have developed a newfound respect for professional painters.
As for the bathroom, when it’s finished I’m thinking of hanging a basket of sunglasses inside the door so the simple act of “doing your business” won’t result in permanent vision loss.
For Part III of Adventures in Painting, click here.
Recognizing Limitations
This experience making over our downstairs bathroom has led me to realize the value in recognizing one’s own limitations. I am creative – in an English composition sort of way. Not in a painting masterpieces – or walls – sort of way.
Though I had planned to take all of the kids’ Spring Break off from work, an event next week needed my attention, so I went to the office on Thursday. I wasn’t heartbroken as it gave me a legitimate reason to avoid painting another coat of Cheez Whiz, er, paint, in the bathroom.
Before I left, I remove the gallon of paint and the paint tray from the bathroom so no one would get any wise ideas about helping out while I was gone.
At about 2pm, I got a mildly panicked call from the babysitter. Robbie had been in the bathroom a little longer than usual.
“Oh no,” I thought. “He’s covered himself in poop.” No such luck.
The sitter, Sarah, went to check on him. “Robbie, are you ok?” she called through the door. To which he replied, “Yes, I’m just doing some painting!”
Hence, the panicked call. In my rush to get out the door, I had overlooked a paint roller, wrapped in plastic wrap, sitting in the sink. Robbie found it and had painted the toilet and the sink!
So I did what any other slightly warped (must be all the paint fumes) mother would do in that situation. I burst out laughing!
Sarah, thinking me a bit nuts, wasn’t sure what to do with my response.
I couldn’t really be angry with her or Robbie – I was the one who’d overlooked the roller. She was relieved when I told her that we are going to replace the toilet anyway.
“Just clean up what you can and I’ll deal with the rest when I get home.”
Then I had her put Robbie on the phone.
“Robbie?”
“Yes, Mommy,” said a contrite little voice that knew he was busted.
“What were you doing in the bathroom?”
“I was just painting a little.”
“Painting the bathroom is Mommy’s job, ok?”
“Ohh-kay,” came the reply, still a bit worried.
“If you want to paint, you ask Sarah to get paint out of the art closet and paint on PAPER.”
“Ohh-kay.”
I hung up the phone, thinking this latest development was pretty much par for the course of this painting adventure.
When I got home, I went into the bathroom to survey the damage. Sarah had done a good job getting up much of the paint. But about 30 minutes later, Charlie closed the door to use the bathroom and yelled “Mom! He painted the door, too!”
Sure enough, the back of the door has the mark of the mini painter. That’s not gonna be so easy to clean up, I’m afraid. Since the paint on the door had already dried, I was not in a huge hurry to tend to it. So, I close the door in denial and start to fix dinner.
Which led to the second paint-related discovery of the evening.
Let me just preface this by saying that if you ever build a house and they give you the option of installing a utility sink, spend the extra money and do it. We did not. Which is why I washed my paint tools out in the empty kitchen sink.
Well, apparently, I did not rinse the painty water down the drain enough or something else mechanically similar that I am not smart enough to figure out. Because when I opened the dishwasher to get out the clean dishes to set the table, streaks of painty water clung to about every other dish. Arrrgh!
So, now, in addition to painting two more coats of so-bright-I-gotta-wear-shades yellow and figuring out how to get the paint out of the grooves of the back of bathroom door – I’m thinking of turning it into modern art by slapping some other colors up there with the yellow and putting a frame around the whole mess; I had to unload the dishes, run an empty cycle through to clear out the water, re-load and re-wash all the dishes.
As Robbie would say in a situation like this, “Shout!”
Mike has forbidden me to ever paint anything again – including my fingernails. I have come to recognize my limitations as a handy-gal and have developed a newfound respect for professional painters.
As for the bathroom, when it’s finished I’m thinking of hanging a basket of sunglasses inside the door so the simple act of “doing your business” won’t result in permanent vision loss.
For Part III of Adventures in Painting, click here.
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