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Although I am not a mom yet, I have started to think hard about the P.E.T.B. Yup, that’s “People for the Ethical Treatment of Baby-sitters.”
While having dinner with Little Sis last night, we swapped horror stories of our baby-sitting days. I had almost forgotten how stupid, cheap, and moronic some parents are! How they pay crap money and expect baby-sitters to be housekeepers and maids — as well as watch their kids.
Little Sis once babysat for a family who asked her to “just do up those dinner dishes” — the job began at night, long after dinner was over — and “whip up a batch of Rice Krispie treats for the kids’ school bake sale tomorrow.”
At the time, Little Sis was 12, and had never made anything more complicated than a salad.
She had to call our mom and get her to walk her through it, over the phone. Hell, I still do not know how to make Rice Krispie treats. It has always looked kind of hard.
Wait — it gets worse …
When I was 12, I babysat for a family with two older kids and a baby. Three things were very wrong with the situation:
- I did not know the baby’s name — and didn’t figure it out until months later.
- I had zero experience with babies, but they family didn’t ask (or realize).
- I mean zero experience. I didn’t realize I had to hold her head!
How did this happen? Well, the mom was a total flake. She did not tell me the kids’ names, among other things. I figured out the older kids’ names, because they talked to each other, but I could not figure out the baby’s name, and was afraid to ask. They all just cooed at her, and never used her real name.
I hadn’t been around any babies, really, except my 10-month-old cousin. So of course, I scooped up this baby — who was maybe six months, but I have no idea — and placed her on my hip, like I did with my cousin. And then … her head kind of tilted backward — eek! I quickly realized my mistake, and readjusted her, but was convinced I broke her for life. I didn’t.
I think my Mom truly grasped the importance of a good parent/baby-sitter relationship, with our beloved sitter, V. She paid very well — always important — she never asked her to clean up or cook anything more complicated than frozen fries, and she made sure to provide a rented movie or something else to keep us happy. In return, V was available when Mom needed her, she had fun with us, and we absolutely adored her.
I understand that getting a good sitter — one that you trust, one that is available, one that your kids actually like — can be war, so …
REMINDER TO SELF:
- Pay baby-sitter well. I used to make $3/hour when I was 12 … What would be the going rate now? $10/hour? Eep. But just think of the alternative: not going out at all. Very worth the money.
- Do not ask baby-sitter to clean. You want him/her watching your kid(s), not hunched over the sink. Also, leave house in reasonable shape so he/he does not feel compelled to tidy up. Not his/her job.
- Do not ask baby-sitter to prepare anything complicated. Leave frozen pizza, snacks, or anything else that is easy and the kid(s) will eat without a fuss. Do not, under any circumstances, ask baby-sitter to feed kid(s) hated vegetables.
- Bribe kid(s) to make sure they are good for sitter. Rent a movie, provide treats — anything to ensure they will be in good moods. No sitter likes a bratty kid, and tantrums might cause baby-sitter to be “busy” the next time you call.
- Be home when you say you will be home. I hated when parents were hours late getting back. I’d sit on the couch, exhausted, hoping that maybe they would over-pay because they were so late. It never happened, so then I would just leave feeling (secretly) mad. Stupid parents.
Vroom, vroom!
Last night, Darling Husband and I were doing a little car research. We’re trying to figure out what fuel-efficient, budget-friendly piece of metal is going to replace our beloved SUV.
Somewhere along the way, it turned into a baby name discussion — doesn’t it always?
ME: Hey — Aston Martin! Wouldn’t that be a cute boy’s name?
DARLING HUSBAND: Uh, no.
ME: No, no, it would! Little Aston Martin.
DARLING HUSBAND: No way.
But it got me thinking — Darling Husband is a huge car/truck/airplane/any-vehicle lover. If we have a boy, maybe a car name would be cute?
Here are some auto-inspired name possibilities:
- Brock (like!)
- Archer (like!)
- Austin (annoyingly trendy)
- Aston Martin (the kid would get nicknamed “Ass”)
- Bentley (too trendy, I think)
- Blake (kind of like)
- Carlton (can’t stop picturing this)
- Henry (unfortunately, Darling Husband still hates it)
- Lexus (sounds a lot like A-lexis)
What do you think? Is the car thing crazy? Unfortunately, we can’t name the kid after my hobbies, unless we want to call him/her “Gluegun” or “Singer.”
Third time’s the charm?
It’s official: I was not knocked up in August.
I pretty much expected this, so I’m not super-disappointed like I was in July.
This, of course, means I did not get pregnant at age 25 — which I sort of figured I would be.
I expressed this to friend C — who is pregnant — the other night, and she assured me that “it happens when it’s supposed to happen.” She told me about a friend of hers who was TTC, and was disappointed that it was taking so long. After a year of trying, she got pregnant within two months of her sister, so they got to go through the whole experience together! She said then that she understood that it really did happen when it was supposed to happen.
I said before that I really wanted to get knocked up in July, August or September, so that I would give birth in April, May or June — therefore not being nine months preggo in the gross hot weather.
C said that she used to think that way, but really, there are good things and bad things with every time of year. Sure, it’s extra-uncomfortable in the summer months, but if you’re waddling around in the middle of winter, you’re worried about slipping on ice or giving birth in a snowbank when your car gets stuck (eek!).
So I am going to try really hard to not care about my age — or which month it “happens” in …
… Really ….
… Although it couldn’t hurt to cross your fingers for September. Maybe the third time really is the charm!
The bell (pepper) jar
A couple of weeks ago, I cut waaaaay too many veggies while making pizza for Darling Husband and myself. I decided to pop them into a washed-out spaghetti sauce jar, and toss them in the freezer.
Last week, I dug out the jar and poured some of the frozen bits of pepper over yet another pizza — we like pizza here. And guess what? Worked perfectly!
So tonight, I chopped up …
- Two yellow peppers (’cause I like yellow (read: tasteless) ones best)
- Two green peppers (’cause they were on sale)
- One red pepper (’cause I don’t like when I expect to bite into a tomato and it’s actually a bit of red pepper)
- Three tomatoes (’cause I heart tomatoes)
It actually made enough for two full jars, so I popped one in the freezer, and one in the fridge — to be used in this week’s dinners (toasted wraps, mini-pizzas, etc.)
I’m quite sure people have been chopping and freezing stuff in jars for millions of years, but please humour me — it is still new and exciting for me!
A miracle in shirt-form
My new favourite shirt is a birthday gift from Little Sis.
The style is similar to the shirt pictured here — but the colour is very, very, very not what is pictured here. Mine is actually pretty, and this photo is a Google Images disaster.
Anyway, it has a neckline like this, and it’s very flowy. That’s a big departure for my boring style, which revolves around tight shirts and A-line skirts, pretty much.
I’ve wore this shirt a couple of times so far, and it makes me feel totally knocked up. It billows out in front of me and could probably hide a decent-sized bump — crazy!
I want to get more of theses shirts, so I’ll have items to wear during those three months of not-being-able-to-tell-anyone. My usual tight shirts would get people suspicious in a second.
The best part is that these goddess-style shirts are actually trendy right now — mine’s from H&M, and they had plenty of others. Truly a miracle in shirt-form!
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