Last weekend we found ourselves in desperate need of a baby sitter on very short notice. Honey's favorite Uncle J and sweet Aunt S were visiting from Texas and we wanted to enjoy a meal and conversation with them in a way that we couldn't do with two littles in tow. So, I promptly called responsible, but thirteen year old babysitter A's mother (that's how they work it) to unfortunately find her otherwise occupied. Next I texted (yes, mother, times have changed) level-headed K, my old and wise at the ripe age of seventeen option, to find her already busy with whatever it is high school girls do on Saturday nights these days. Faced with the very real predicament of having to cart the littles into the fine establishment knows as Portofino Bistro, I figured now was as good a time as any to try someone new. Enter level-headed K's little sister K.
Little sister K was prompt in her arrival and sweet in her demeanor. Since we had rather early dinner reservations (5:30 p.m.) and Cookie has become quite the challenge to put to bed, we told little sister K that we'd be home to tuck the littles in bed. We went on our merry way, pleased as punch with little sister K and smugly satisfied at the thought of now having THREE babysitting options.
We thoroughly enjoyed a divine Italian-esque seafood dinner and downed too many glasses of outstanding Italian wine (Uncle J can certainly navigate a wine list!) A good time was undoubtedly had by all at this Buckhead side-street gem. Such a good time, in fact, that we didn't make it back home until nearly ten o'clock.
Well, all appeared to be spic and span on our arrival home. And the littles were sweetly lined up on the sofa watching Scooby Doo on demand with little sister K tucked right between them. She assured us that they were perfect angels, we paid her the ridiculous rate that babysitters charge these days and Honey walked her home. On one hand, I couldn't believe Cookie was still awake (he hasn't seen that time of night in...um... ever) but she did follow my instructions that I'd be home for bed time. On the other hand, I couldn't get over that she'd cleaned the kitchen, put away the toys AND kept everyone alive.
As Honey hurried Cookie off to bed, I inquired of John about his night. He told me how much he loooooved little sister K. How they ate the whole bag of candy (that equaled at least two bags of Valentine's candy.) How they got to drink Mountain Dew (gasp!) with their pizza. Out of the can. Cookie too. How they ALL jumped on the sofa, jumped on the chairs and jumped on the beds. Wow. Sounds delightful to a five year old but had me a bit miffed.
So I asked if Cookie had a good time. John assured me that he did. Well, up until the point when he was bleeding. BLEEDING?????? How on Earth did that happen? And where was he bleeding? Well, it seems that they went "night scootering" outside. And, seeing as it was night and Cookie doesn't know how to ride a scooter and that Cookie is only two years old, he ran into a tree and cut his lip. Bless his heart. But he recovered quickly and there was no sign of his injury as we speedily whisked him off to bed. At this point I'm not just a bit miffed. I'm absolutely miffed.
Well, Sunday comes and I deem Cookie to be a-okay. I'm starting to see the humor in the situation and recount the story to my mother and sister. It really was pretty humorous in hind sight. Humorous up until the point when I decide to open the dishwasher. And it's totally and completely full of suds. Yes, my friends, it appears that little sister K loaded it up with regular dish soap. And my, what a mess that made. So, Honey comes to rescue and cleans out the suds. He restarts the dishwasher and jets down to the basement for just a few minutes when the suds start flowing out of the dishwasher onto the floor. Nothing a few hours, every towel in my house and some help from e-how.com can't solve. And at this point I'm no longer miffed. I'm just plain mad.
Flash forward to last night when we headed out with a few of Honey's high school friends to see to a band another high school friend manages. [We were dangerously close to becoming band groupies last summer, but since it has been quite a few months since we last saw them I think we are safely in the clear.] As luck would have it, responsible babysitter A was once again available. So not only have we safely avoided becoming band groupies, we safely avoided a second adventure in babysitting. Disasters averted.