This week, a friend who was in a bind asked me if I could watch her two little kids all day while she worked. I said yes even though being a nanny is for the young at heart and younger at body. However, I have a dishwasher on the fritz and a whole lot of grays needing some color. Necessity is the Mutha of Hasty Decisions.
The girls and I got along great until the last hour. The older of the Missies wanted to open a box that UPS delivered but I said she had to wait until her mom came home. She wanted me to call her mom at work so she could ask her and I said “no”. A fat, firm no. That’s when the wheels fell off the Toddler Bus. She begged, she threatened, she faux wailed and she faux tantrumed but I didn’t give in. Maybe in my early days of parenting I might have, but I’ve gone thru three teenagers so not much rattles me. Finally, she looked at me and said, “I hate babysitters named Kathy.”
I’m not sure how many Kathys have watched her over the years and what they’ve done to her, but for a second there it almost felt like her bold dislike of all babysitters bearing that name was specifically directed at me.