Tuesday, March 25, 2014

PLEEEEASE Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead

This is an accurate portrayal of current me. 

A month and a half ago I offered to help my neighbor out and watch her son after school so she could take this new job in the fashion industry and kiss her super stressful bank job goodbye. 

I love this woman. She's super sweet, she got her degree in fashion marketing so I love to talk fashion with her and sewing and eBay and my etsy shop and all of that. She's a single mom and has to work but I'm a stay at home mom and I can help her with her kid so she can do that work downtown IN FASHION. I'm home with kids anyway. What's one more?


I forgot that her kid is a living demon. He's loud. He's lippy. He eats everything. He breaks stuff. All the stuff. 

Basically I'm babysitting Eric Cartman. 

AND! He doesn't even go to the same school my kid goes to so at 2pm everyday, instead of taking a nice, leisurely stroll down the street with my 2 year old, "The Beav" to pick up my 6 year old, "Wally", I'm strapping a barely napped kid in a hot car (we're in The San Fernando Valley), driving two minutes, getting said kid out of car to pick up the older kid. Rounding those two back up with gritted teeth and high blood pressured "I said we have to go!"s and "Now where's your brother?!"s, I finally get them both strapped into their car seats and drive 20 minutes in traffic a mile down the road (remember, this is LA), get them both out of the car, the older one complaining about something. We go onto the overcrowded play yard by the handball court to pick up Cartman where he begs me for one more round of handball while my two kids both jet off into opposite directions. Did I mention how crowded this schoolyard is??? 

 Add more kicking and balls and then accurate.

So Cartman (7) is beating the crap out of a ball while he says he hates me and wishes I didn't have to pick him up, Wally (6) has disappeared, The Beav (2) is on his way around one of the buildings and the car is parked in a very busy 5 minute loading only zone. 

I grow a new grey hair everyday. And somehow I've come home with 3 kids and no parking tickets everyday for a month and a half. 

That's just the beginning. Cartman's mom doesn't want him watching tv or playing video games on school days which is fine by me BUT that means he sits around complaining about it and kicking my walls and saying he's bored after he's done raiding my fridge. That goes on for about a half an hour until I make them sit down at the kitchen table to do their homework which takes about an hour. Eventually I make them go outside because I can't handle the house destruction any longer. Then I have to yell at them the whole time to stop howling in the courtyard and "stop knocking on neighbors' doors!" and "get off that tree!" and "don't throw rocks!" and "stop kicking the ball against the windows!!" And I'm really kind of over this whole friggin thing. Because while I'm out there protecting Cartman from himself, I'm not in here sewing things for the people who have paid me to sew things (sorry my people.) 

Basically I'm helping someone achieve her dreams at the expense of my own, at the expense of Wally going to his school friend's houses to play, of The Beav's naps, of my husband's happiness. Of my happiness. OF MY THINGS BEING IN ONE PIECE. 

A couple weeks ago I was at the end and nervously texted Cartman's mom that I had to call it quits. That I couldn't do it anymore. I thought she was going to hate me. 

"I do not blame you! I can't even handle one, much less 3! I'll work out another arrangement"

And that was it. I was so stressed about disappointing her, admitting that 3 kids is too many for me, that I don't have anything under control, that I failed. And she was cool. I guess you kind of have to be if Cartman's your kid. 
The countdown's on. This is my last week. My last Tuesday. And then my last Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. 

First thing I'm going to do is mop my floors because no one knows how to not drag mud through my house. And three boys bring in a LOT of mud. 
Wish me luck.

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