Ten Things You Should Know Before Asking Me to Babysit

Prelude

Shortly after my 13th birthday, I began babysitting for a number of families in my neighborhood. In addition to filling my pockets with a little extra spending money, this new vocation provided me with a means to learn everything I ever needed or wanted to know about sex; you'd be surprised at the types of things a curious adolescent can find while riffling through the night stands of the married couples who employ her.

What's even more surprising is how the Polaroid camera, despite its bulkiness, managed to maintain its popularity in the early 80s. As far as I could tell, every couple had one, and judging by some of the pictures I found, the only advantage of owning a Polaroid, as opposed to a more conventional camera, was the ability to discretely chronicle your sex life. Remember; this was well before digital cameras ever existed.

All I can say is thank God my babysitting career had ended long before the nanny camera hit the market. Otherwise, I'm sure the footage of my disgraceful behavior would have been aired as the feature story on Dateline or 60 Minutes.  

********

I figured my babysitting days were long over. However, over the last five years, a handful of my friends had decided that their genetic material was worthy of passing on to future generations, and thus, they've been procreating like rabbits. This small population spurt has renewed the need for my services, and against their better judgement, my friends, from time to time, have had me sit for their offspring. 

I'm intelligent enough to know that I have not been recruited to babysit based on the fact that I'm some sort of super-nanny who, through song and dance, can make children believe that putting away their toys is as much fun as playing with puppies and unicorns. Nor is it because I'm in any desperate need of money; I would never expect my friends to pay me for watching their children. I don't even know what a babysitter charges these days. 

It's $14 per hour — I just googled it on the chance my friends might be interested in knowing how much money I have saved them over the years.  

The real reason I still get asked to babysit is because I am single...and I don't have children...and I rarely go out. The sum of all these factors leaves my friends with the impression that I lack anything that resembles a life and, therefore, I would like nothing more than to babysit their children on a Saturday night. I don't intend to dispute this fact, but I would like to establish a few ground rules for future babysitting assignments (providing my friends will ever ask me to babysit again after they read this post).

1) I value my sleep like a crack-whore values her crack—and by crack, I mean the drug, in case you needed clarification—so please do not ask me to babysit before 11 a.m. or after 2 a.m..

2)When it comes to children, I have the attention span of an embryo. It's imperative you know this because it impacts how I will interact with your child. Be forewarned that your child and I will likely have about 15 minutes of interactive play before I am forced, out of boredom, to plop him down in front of the television. 

3) Because it's inevitable that your child will spend most of his time in front of the T.V., it is advisable that you have a suitable DVD on hand— unless, of course, you have no qualms about him being addicted to The Real Housewives or Jersey Shore. Otherwise, allow me to clarify what it is I mean by "suitable" and "on hand."

Suitable: A DVD that captivates both him and me.

Good choice: Team America—puppets for him; adult humor for me...we both win!

Bad choice: Dora the Explorer—he learns Spanish; I learn how to lie to a child..."Oh, oh, T.V.'s broken! Bedtime!"

On Hand: DVD is placed in DVR. DVR is turned on. Input source is switched to DVR. All I have to do is press play. This may seem rather remedial, but you know that remote control you have sitting on your coffee table? The one that's the size of an ipad and has more buttons than a sound board? Well, I totally get that this fancy gadget makes your husband feel like a tech-savvy man, but IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A FUCKING IMBECILE!! And I highly doubt you want an imbecile supervising your child, now do you? 

4)If you can't comply with #3, I request that the latest copies of US, People and Star be available for my perusal. And please don't mind if I use these magazines for bedtime stories.  From past experience, I know that children get very involved when asked to point to all the movie stars who "look like Auntie Rachel."

5)In reference to #4: your child's story time will be cut short if he points to someone like Prince or Mick Jagger. I may have full lips, but your child needs to learn how to make simple distinctions early on in life. Gender attribution should not be that difficult for a three-year-old to grasp.

6) I would prefer it if you did not ask me to bathe your child. Call me crazy, but I don't want his memory of my cleaning his private parts to be misconstrued later in life as "Auntie Rachel touched me down there." Not to mention, my short attention span for children can serve as a serious safety issue; I would hate for your child to inhale a tubful of water just because I'm too busy plucking my facial hair.

7) Given my earlier confession, I feel it necessary to assure you that you do not need to put a lock on your bedroom door. I am no longer curious, and I have no interest in knowing what the two of you do when you are behind closed doors. In fact, this mental image is very disturbing to me, and I would like very much to avoid it. It is almost as nauseating to me as the image of my paren—

Hhhugggh, Hhhuggh

Sorry, that was the sound of me almost puking. 

8)Speaking of puking...if your child has a certain proclivity for face-painting herself with her own feces, then it would be in her best interest if you disclosed this information before I change her diaper. Failing to do so will result in me almost puking on her while I frantically scrub her face (and quite possibly the inside of her mouth) with a whole package of WetOnes©!

9)If you are unable to provide me with dinner (e.g., Chinese takeout or cheese pizza with black olives and mushrooms), then I can not be held accountable for going to town on all the junk food you have in your pantry. In fact, if you do own a nanny cam, chances are you already have a video of me gorging myself on Baked Lays© and Chips O'hoy©. Should such a video exist, I trust your discretion in ensuring it doesn't get leaked onto YouTube. Did I mention that babysitters charge $14 dollars per hour? 

10) For the safety of your child, it is recommended that all alcohol be secured in a locked cabinet. Alcohol serves as a wonderful sleep aid for me...

                       and it works like a charm on the kiddos, too!

I don't want anyone to feel bad or to think, "God, she is really bitter about babysitting." I'm not. I'm just being forthright about how you can make my watching your kids an enjoyable experience. 


I realize that the tone of this post may seem a little acerbic, so if it's difficult to swallow, allow me to reference the greatest nanny of all time...




"A spoonful of sugar..."

♬♬♬☂☂☂☂☂☂☂☂♬♬♬

The Tao of Poop

I have always conceded that a good friend is measured by your ability to sit in comfortable silence with that person. Conversations, like good friendships, should not be forced.

Aside from reposeful silence, another quality I look for in a friend is the ability to comfortably discuss with her those things in life that you are otherwise uncomfortable discussing with someone like, say, your boss.

In other words, I consider a good friend to be one with whom I can discuss the finer details of taking a really good dump. An even better friend is one who is willing to analyze that dump after I command, "Hey, come and check this one out." The greatest friend of all is the kindred spirit who, after inspecting my productivity, gives me a congratulatory pat on the back and says, "Strong work. Do you mind if I take a picture?"

Let's face it, solid elimination is a fact of life, and what good are friends if you can't share this satisfying experience with them? This is not to say that I don't value loyalty. Believe me, I would be nothing short of enraged if I found out that my good friend had leaked a picture of my little, brown baby on the Internet.

Needless to say, there is a code of silence among friends when discussing the art of defecation. Unless, of course, your good friend is me, in which case you must accept that I have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than to blog about the intricacies of plop-dropping...if for no other reason than to hone my writing skills. But fear not, my bosom buddies, your identities will be protected (tee hee). Due to the sensitive content of this prose, I have changed the names to avoid bringing humiliation to the reported poop-doers and poop-talkers.

If not for my wonderful friends and their willingness to candidly divulge the intimate details of their bodily functions, I would have never come up with the Tao of Poop. Below are some of the life lessons that have been acquired on (and sometimes off) that proverbial throne we commonly refer to as the shitter...

Tao #1: Everyone Poops.

The Japanese are obviously more comfortable with this topic, as evidenced by the children's book Minna Unchi. Kudos to Amanda Mayer for translating this book into the American version Everyone Poops. All over the Western World, parents have used this book as a potty-training tool. I, personally, have considered purchasing this great piece of literature and using it as a coffee-table book. At the very least, based on the conversations it would elicit, this book would serve as an invaluable tool at dinner parties for weeding out mediocre acquaintances from potentially great friends.

Tao #2: Everyone turns around to look at their poop. Those who say they don't are lying.

Many G.I. specialists agree that your poop tells the story of your overall health. If this isn't reason enough to examine your poop, then I don't know what is.

Besides, I am pretty sure Michelangelo spent hours inspecting his sculptures, so why should you feel ashamed for taking a peek at yours?

As I am sure most people are aware, it can be very disappointing when you turn around to find that your poop is missing. Poof! Gone. It's as if it gets sucked into the depths of hell before you even have a chance to bear witness to the fruits of your labor. I refer to this little bugger as the Ghost Poop, which brings me to Tao number three.

Tao #3: It is okay to personify your poop and use idioms when referring to act of defecation.

The Rocking Chair Poop, according to my good friend who suffers from chronic constipation, is the poop that requires you to use back-and-forth rocking motions in order to rid yourself of the tenacious little bastard. I have another friend who refers to this same kind of poop as the Monkey Poop. During her difficult elimination attempts, she will actually bring both feet up on the toilet seat, thereby opening up her bottom while perching herself on the toilet like a monkey.

My personal favorite is the Conservative Poop. This one requires little cleanup and saves you tons on toilet paper. Conversely, The Bush Poop is the one that leaves you with no choice but to believe your ass is harboring weapons of mass destruction. Like the Bush Administration, the Bush Poop couldn't care less about the environment, it requires a great deal of cleanup, and it leaves you with the feeling that there is more destruction yet to come.

Another friend, whose name will remain undisclosed (you're WELCOME, Sue), uses Pat Green's song Wave on Wave to describe her pre-movement sensation. Whenever I hear her singing the lyrics "it came upon me wave on wave," I know it's time to remove myself from the perimeter and have her call me at a later date. Other friends have referred to the art of elimination as dropping the kids off at the pool, pinching off a loaf, or squeezing out a squirrel.

However you may refer to it, I think we can all agree that pooping requires a little bit of etiquette.

Tao #4: Be polite. Even though you may enjoy your own shit, others find it disgusting.

All bathrooms should be equipped with deodorizer or matches. If they are, please use them. If they aren't, then I suggest you spend five minutes fanning your arms to disperse the odor, or you can make a clean-break when you are sure no one else is around. Should someone catch you, it is acceptable to blame the stench on another person, providing that other person isn't me.

And, yes, serial flushes are required if you just dropped the Dale Earnhardt of poops and have left track marks on the white porcelain. Furthermore, it is utterly impertinent to leave one square of toilet paper on a roll. Not every poop can be the Conservative one!

Tao #5: To maintain anonymity when using public stalls at work, choose your shoes wisely.

This particular rule doesn't really apply to me since I have a designated private "office" at work. For my friend Sully, however, leopard print shoes are not the wisest choice when attending a meeting at the public loaf factory in her office. She wears her unique footwear like a Scarlet Letter, which leaves her poop-scared and stuck in a stall, too embarrassed to come out. My suggestion? Try the Monkey.

Tao #6: Devote your attention to the task at hand.

Unless you are great at multi-tasking, I strongly discourage you from doing a Sudoku and talking to your your best friend on the phone while evacuating your impurities, especially if your mind is already preoccupied with wardrobe choices for the date you have later that evening. Pay heed to this advice, otherwise, the outcome will be pure humiliation.

It will be no one's fault but your own when your date comes over, asks to use the bathroom, and upon latching the door, leaves you with the grave realization that because you weren't focused on the earlier task at hand, you forgot to flush. If it weren't for the complete humiliation brought on by such an incident, you would have been quick on your feet by blaming it on your roommate, but since you already told this date she was away for the weekend, you must grovel quietly in your own shame. It will be the only time in your dating career when you won't question a guy's reasons for never calling you again.

Tao #7: When in public washrooms, maintain a firm grip on your toilet paper, lest it flies out of your hand and lands, faceup, in the occupied stall next to you.

Right, Jay?

Tao#8: There are appropriate and inappropriate places to lay your troops.

Appropriate:

Aside from my home, my next favorite place to leave my offerings is at work. Many people may disagree, but if you can secure a discrete and quiet bathroom, nothing beats the feeling of knowing that you are getting paid to crap. What's even more satisfying is being employed at a place that offers evening and weekend differentials.

Unless you suffer from a medical condition, it is unacceptable to leave your solid waste in certain places. I, for one, know that the urge can be ignored for at least three days; they call it a romantic getaway for a reason.

Inappropriate:

My Bed. I don't care how much alcohol and mexican food you just inhaled on your boys-night-out.

Port-o-potties. First of all, anyone who would want to use one of these for this purpose doesn't value how ambiance can amplify the satisfaction of a good purge. Secondly, it's disgusting.

Truck stops. Think webcams and Peeping Toms.

Baby Showers. To this day, it confuses me that someone could momentarily excuse herself from the elegant baby shower we threw for our dear friend, Shawna, only to drop the Mother Load in our tiny bathroom, which I might add, was less than six-feet away from the perfectly displayed, three-tiered stand of pink and mint-colored iced cupcakes. Whoever you are, you may think you got away with it. And granted, for a short time, you did. But I am here to tell you that whatever it was you flushed down our toilet...was found...hours later...at a remote location! Evidently, the massive missile you dropped in our commode was too much for our septic tank to bear. The shear force of your shit caused it to blow right through our pipes like an MK-46 torpedo. Your dump found its final resting place, right there, smack-dab in the middle of our front lawn.

After our initial shock and disgust from this gruesome discovery had waned, my close friends and I stood in comfortable silence as we hovered over this uninvited lawn ornament, each of us lost in awe at its enormity. Although I can't attest to what my friends were thinking, I am pretty sure Sue was reciting "Wave on Wave" in her head, and T-Bone was most likely considering the great satisfaction this mammoth-sized dump must have provided for its creator.

The only thought running through my mind was: "Hmm? I wonder if this is where all Ghost Poops end up?"

*****

I had to include this comment that was left for me on my Facebook wall regarding the Tao...

Pooper, in answer to your questions: 1) I can not divulge the creator of the monkey. However, I can tell you she came up with this position during her pregnancy, so I imagine that if a pregnant woman can do it, it can't be all that difficult. I will thank Monica... (oooooh, crap, I didn't mean to say her name... shit, what's wrong with my delete button? It won't work!) 2) If socks are problematic, might I suggest "Yoga Paws." They are like socks with rubber traction on the soles. Hope this helps!