Horror Stories

I am pretty much a professional babysitter.

By the age of 19, many girls are.

There aren't that many things that unite all girls. You've got the basic fact that really, girls just wanna have fun, and other than that, girls vary quite a bit from individual to individual. The only other truly uniting factor is the deep rooted desire to have the best babysitting horror stories.

I have my share, and given the chance, I share them with all of the dramatic pride I can muster. There was the time I was watching seven children and was tied to a pole, the times I've been asked all kinds of inappropriate questions that I will not even put on the internet, and of course the attempts from children to remove my pants. I've even had kids threaten me by hiding their siblings. Come to think of it, most of the stories I do not feel comfortable putting on the interwebs.

This summer, I have done quite a bit of babysitting and have, of course, expanded my bank of horror stories.

Earlier this week, around midday, I suggested to two adorable kiddos that we eat lunch. They thought, much to my relief, that lunch was a great idea. Since we had been to the park, I did the responsible thing and said, "Let's wash our hands!" (When I babysit, everything becomes first person plural and exclamation pointed.) The older of the two climbed on a stool, put her hands in the sink, and began a conventional method of hand cleansing. The other child tried a more creative approach. Taking a toy Mickey Mouse with him, he simply dunked his hands in the toilet and walked away. I'm sure he thought this was genius. I would have, too. Water, accessible without a stool! However, I, the boring adult in the situation, simply thought that this kid did not quite understand germs at a sufficient level.

I chased him, pausing to tweet:

With my wisdom and guidance, the little fellow was able to clean his hands with soap and water. So you may cease your nail-biting and rest easy tonight, dear reader.

Also this week, I had my first run-in with cloth diapers. If this is a reoccurring thing, they could find themselves on my "potential candidates for arch nemesis" list. And I do not say that lightly.

The kid decided to urinate in said diaper. This decision was made during his time on my lap. Come to think of it, I should probably put those shorts in the wash. We both got wet. But who could be mad at a kid who lets you read to him for an hour? Not me. I would guess you couldn't either.

Luckily, those are some of the more horrifying stories of the week, or at least the ones I could write on a blog.

Have a great weekend, and don't forget to teach your kids about germs.