Posts Tagged ‘babysitting’

What I learned this weekend

Monday, March 9th, 2009

This past weekend, I moved into Britt's house for a night. She and Jared went away all day Saturday and Sunday, and I stayed over to watch her kids. I was there for 31 hours, 56 minutes, and 44 seconds. A second more, and I may not have survived. However, I did learn some valuable lessons during my ordeal:

  • Telling a four-year old who is playing quietly in her room that you need to make an important call for business and so she should just stay in her room until I'm done means that she will stand at her doorway sixty seconds later yelling at the top of her lungs, "ADAM AWE YOU OFF YOU' IMPO'TANT CALL YET?"
  • When both children are playing nicely in their respective rooms, thinking that you have time to go to the bathroom in peace is a lost cause. Children have built-in radar that means they'll head right for the door and start banging on it to see what you're doing.
  • Likewise, for a child, the best time to ask when they get to eat lunch is while you're trying to take a shower.
  • No matter how protected you are, a determined child will always be able to hit you in the nuts.
  • Breaking down and sobbing, "Oh God why won't you just go outside and leave me alone?" will only look like weakness, and children will take that moment to attack.
  • "Playing outside" means standing at the front door, the garage door, or the porch door, screaming "CAN WE COME IN NOW?" for an hour.
  • When a four-year old asks you why you're so fat, asking her why she's so ugly is not the best response.
  • If you wash your hands every time a child touches them, rubs their head on them, or puts their feet on them, it will only take you an hour to go through an entire paper towel roll.
  • The movie "Clueless" might have some concepts that are hard to explain to a nine-year old boy. Or, at the very least, awkward to watch with him sitting there.
  • Trying to train a young child to call her mother by "Britt" instead of "Mommy" is impossible, but the same child has no problem repeating verbatim the names her brother called her.
  • The most important lesson I learned: Vasectomies are cheap!

P.S. I found 10 more gray hairs this evening in the mirror.

My review of Watchmen

Saturday, March 7th, 2009

On Movie Friday at work, a group of us went and saw "Watchmen". Those of you with even the slightest background in comics know that this movie is based on a graphic novel – one of the most influential of all time. A densely-packed 12-issue maxiseries, "Watchmen" was considered to be unfilmable. Clearly, it's not.

I enjoyed the movie quite a bit. It really felt like the book had come to life. It's hard to think about watching it over and over again, like I can do with Iron Man or The Dark Knight, because it's not a fun movie. It's dark and twisted and depressing and serious and morbid. It's excellently shot and directed, and the actors chosen for most of the parts were absolutely perfect. Zach Snyder did an outstanding job.

I expect the movie to win many awards, including the following:

  • Most Blue Penis Ever Shown on Film
  • Most Uncomfortable Sex Scene to Watch Since The Specialist
  • Best Dark Avenger Raspy Voice
  • Best Use of a Midget Actor Since Willow
  • Random Matt "Max Headroom" Frewer Appearance Award
  • The "Is That Macaulay Culkin as Adrian Veidt?" Award
  • Least Subtle Ejaculation Symbolism, We Get It, It's a Flamethrower
  • Movie That Could Most Benefit From a Giant Telepathic Alien Squid
  • Best One-Word Titled Motion Picture that Rhymes With "Shmwatchmen"
  • Most Likely to have 14,000 Hours of Deleted Footage
  • Top Movie Starring Nixon Since 2008
  • Bring a Catheter Because You're Going to have to Pee Twice Award
  • The Prestigious "Alan Moore Should Grow The Fuck Up" Award

Have you seen it? What did you think?

In other Avita-news, I will be spending all day Saturday and most of Sunday babysitting Britt's rapscallion ruffians while she and Jared go away for a night for their anniversary. Of course, this is what they're telling me. In reality, they're probably leaving for Europe for three weeks.

I'll be staying over at their house and in charge of small children for 36 hours. Wish me luck. Wish them luck. Wish one of us luck!

Battered and bruised

Monday, July 14th, 2008

I'm sitting here at 11:00 on Sunday night, trying to write a post. Every time I type a key, I wince – every movement sends pain throughout my body. My body is black and blue, and it hurts to breathe.

Did I get into a car accident? Nope.
Did I get thrown from a bull? Nope.
Did I jump from a plane and land without the parachute opening? Nope.

I watched Britt's kids.

Being the amazingly wonderful and nice person that I am, I agreed to watch the kids over at our house while Britt and my wife went shopping. Last time I watched them, they were great and I could almost see how cool it would be to have children.

This time was different.

Oh so different.

Devin and Emma, or, using the codenames I assigned to them, Ignoratron and Lil' Ninja Punchalot, respectively, decided that this Sunday was going to be a day of boundaries. Pushing them. Testing them. Outright destroying them.

While I'd love to recap the minute-by-minute detail of the five longest hours in my life, every time I try, I just break down and sob inconsolably. Instead, here are some of the highlights, if they can be called that:

1:00 – Britt drops the kids off and runs out the door laughing maniacally.
1:02 – They're bored.
1:15 – Ignoratron decides that he'd rather hammer nails into the table than the wood I provided.
1:18 – Lil' Ninja Punchalot decides to take her shoes off and see if she can hit me in the forehead with them. She can.
1:30 – Ignoratron has concluded that "Stop doing that" means "Please do that with more enthusiasm".
1:48 – Lil' Ninja Punchalot likes to sit on the ottoman and slam her head backwards into the person sitting in the chair behind her. My crotch may never recover.
2:00 – I fall asleep in the chair while the kids are actually quietly watching TV.
2:30 – I wake up wrapped in duct tape, with a nail sticking out of my knee, unicorn temporary tattoos covering the right side of my face, and Lil' Ninja Punchalot using me as her own personal trampoline. Ignoratron is nowhere to be seen.
3:15 – Ignoratron pulls into the driveway. Apparently, he decided to borrow the car and go to the liquor store. Now his breath smells like tequila.
3:44 – I finally extricate myself from the duct tape. Lil' Ninja Punchalot karate chops my nuts and Ignoratron does a flying kick to my head.
3:52 – I catch both of them at last. Ignoratron goes into the hamper and Lil' Ninja Punchalot gets put into a pillowcase. I tape the openings up and throw both of them into the laundry room.
3:53 – Shit. They've escaped. Someone gnawed a hole in the wall.
4:12 – Lil' Ninja Punchalot ambushes me from her perch on top of the refrigerator while Ignoratron uses a taser on me.
5:00 – I wake up as they are dragging me to the pool with a giant stone tied to my waist. I manage to stay my execution by promising them both large sums of money.
5:15 – I convince them that Monopoly money is actually Euros and worth more than the dollar.
5:48 – Lil' Ninja Punchalot whips out her butterfly knife and cuts my toe off. Ignoratron helpfully puts it back on my foot with a hammer, nail, and duct tape.
6:00 – Britt tries to drop Amy off and leave without the kids, but I throw myself onto the hood of her car and hang on until she agrees to take them back.
6:01 – I call and schedule my vasectomy.


Humor-Blogs.com hates kids, too.

Babysitting

Wednesday, February 13th, 2008

One of my regular blog reads is Oh, the Joys. She had a post yesterday about boys babysitting her daughter.

Here's the pertinent part of that post, quoted verbatim:

Later, after listening to me drone on about the mundane ups and downs of finding a baby sitter, a male friend said,

“Aren’t you worried about a boy babysitting your daughter?”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

He was talking about the potential abuse of my daughter.

See my innocence smashed to bits there on the floor?

Honestly, nothing like that had occurred to me.

Nothing that disgusting had even crossed my mind.

She concluded the post by asking for insight, perspective, and opinions. And you know what? Reading the comments just cemented my belief that some people are fucking morons.

I can understand a parent being hesitant about having anyone babysit, male or female. I can understand someone who had been abused feeling skittish about leaving their child alone with someone else. What I cannot understand, however, is a parent who would hire a female babysitter but refuses to even consider a male babysitter. And I saw several comments from close-minded women who have no problem making this decision. These are the type of parents who I'm sure will fill their children's heads with racist stereotypes and fearmongering.

Their reasons? Complete and utter bullshit.

Reason #1: Most molesters are men.

Well, no shit, fucknut. So are almost all rapists. And serial killers. And even murderers. This is what's known as a syllogistic fallacy. Just because men are molesters and your babysitter might be male does NOT mean that your babysitter is a molester.

Since almost all rapists are men, does this mean that you'll never let a boy date your daughter?
Since almost all serial killers are men, does this mean that you'll never let a man work with your daughter or talk to her?
Since almost all molesters are men, what happens when your girl babysitter has her boyfriend come visit?

I know! Why don't you create such an environment of fear that boys are assumed to be molesters just because they have a penis? That's an awesome idea. Why don't you just transfer all of your petty paranoia and stupidity to your children so that they're just as fucked up as you?

Here's something else to think about. If you treat someone like something that they're not, eventually they will become that something.

Reason #2: Boys are more hormonal than girls and their brains make them do strange things.

Bullfuckingshit. Find me a boy who lets his little head do the talking, and I'll show you a girl who has recently discovered that her body can convince boys to do whatever she wants. I'll speak in small words here, so see if you can follow along. The goal is to find someone who will know right from wrong even with hormones running wild. See? How hard was that?

Reason #3: Girls are more nurturing than boys.

I babysat from when I was 11 until I was 18. I was an excellent sitter. I watched boys and girls from six months old to 11-12 years old. I changed diapers, made dinner, helped with homework, put the kids to bed, and cleaned up. Some of the kids were family, some weren't. And I got asked back to be the sitter time and time again, because I was the only sitter that the parents liked. The girl sitters? Would sit on the phone all night, have their boyfriends over, and do a piss-poor job of actually taking care of the kids.

Splitting the ability to nurture and care along gender lines is the same thing as expecting all Asians to be good at math, all blacks to be good as basketball, and all Germans to be Nazis. It's a shitty perspective.


It's all about making smart decisions, not stupid fucking choices based on bad information, faulty logic, and fear. You should never assume that a girl babysitter is going to be awesome and you should never assume a boy babysitter is going to fucking molest your child. Anyone, male or female, that watches your child should be someone that you can trust, and you should do your due diligence in making sure your child is in good hands. Simply choosing to eliminate male babysitters from the equation, though, is stupid, ignorant, and sets the worst type of example for your child to follow.

In conclusion, don't be a fucking douchey cunt. The End.

**P.S. Let me say that most of the commenters were intelligent and logical and said things like "you should figure that out on a case-by-case basis". But it was the fucking idiots like Imhelendt who supported this completely illogical and irrational perspective.

**P.P.S. ARRRGGHHHHH I hate ignorant people.

Translator

Monday, October 15th, 2007

On Saturday (my wedding anniversary), I had the distinct pleasure of sitting on babysitting the creatures that spawned from Britt's unholy vagina. They were very well-behaved, which just made me more nervous since I just knew that they were secretly plotting the best way to sacrifice me to their dark lord. Or maybe just beat me and rob me blind. I never did figure it out.

This time did give me some more context so that I could have a chance to figure out Princess's ancient dialect. If you ever come across someone speaking Sumerian, this might help you with fostering proper communication:

"Ahtahm pawddyy" means "I have to go the bathroom right now for the fourth fucking time today!"

"Kneehahlp" means "I'm only two, retard. I can't do this by myself."

"I deweet" means "I'm two, retard. I can do this on my own. Now piss off."

"Poakaymahn dubelewe tee eph" means "Dude, I don't understand Pokemon, either. Can we watch CNN?"

"No jooc vahdcah" means "I'm really fuckin' sick of juice. Toss a little vodka in there, will ya?"

and finally

"Boosh plehn Ihrek poopy" means "While I disagree with Bush's Iraq policy, I think that pulling out all at once would cause severe damage to the infrastructure of Iraq."

If anyone needs help, I can provide my services as a translator and consultant for a modest fee.


On another note, the Halloween party is coming up in less than two weeks! You still have time to plan your trip, take a long weekend, and get your ass down here. You'll be missing great food, tons of liquor, and an awesome time!

War has nothing on babysitting

Monday, September 3rd, 2007

On Saturday I had the pleasure of babysitting Britt's children while she and my wife went shopping. This was the first time in almost 15 years that I have had to babysit, and, of course, the first time I've had to babysit while I had a blog. So I decided to grab a spiral notebook, and just jot down my thoughts during the seven hours of hell fun. It's good that I did, because only a day and a half later, I've discovered that I've blocked out the entire event and have no recollection of anything that happened. So, here they are, transcribed for your reading pleasure:

Avitable's Note: I've substituted "Princess" for Britt's daughter and "Cyclone" for her son.

11:00 AM

Britt and Amy just left. This doesn't seem so bad. I just put Finding Nemo in the DVD player and both kids seem engrossed. How long can they be gone shopping anyways? They'll probably be back within 3-4 hours, I'm sure.

11:15 AM

Wow, Finding Nemo didn't keep them occupied for very long. Princess started bawling her eyes out as soon as she realized her mom snuck out, and is babbling in an Ancient Sumerian language about something that is very important to her. Cyclone has decided that this means he should wrestle my head with his entire body. We just broke a lamp.

12:00 PM

I just looked at the clock, thinking that at least three or four hours must have passed by. When I realized that it had only been an hour, I started crying. Britt mentioned that Princess knows basic sign language, and she showed me what some of the signs meant, but I was too busy looking at her boobs, so I don't remember any of it. Right now, Princess is thumping her chest with one hand and touching her mouth with her other hand. I can't figure out if that means that she's hungry, thirsty, or she needs CPR. I am about to assume it means CPR when Cyclone stops punching me in the nuts long enough to tell me that it's lunchtime.

1:00 PM

I have food in my hair, there's macaroni and cheese on the ceiling, and we broke three glasses. I didn't see Princess or Cyclone get any food in their respective mouths, but I hope they did. Princess isn't making the CPR motion anymore, so maybe it did mean hungry. Maybe I can convince them to go watch Shrek now.

2:00 PM

Okay, it's been three hours. Where the holy fuck are they? They should be back by now, right? I guess, with driving time, it might be a few more minutes. I can hang on for a few more minutes. Princess is dancing on the couch and singing in Ancient Sumerian while Cyclone keeps testing the strength of his shoes on my shins. I can make it.

4:00 PM

Apparently a 7-year old boy who took wrestling does know a pretty good choke hold. I just woke up after being out for what must be about two hours. One of my eyebrows has been shaved off and I'm not wearing any pants. There is also a crayon lodged in my right nose, and Princess and Cyclone are nowhere to be found. The window to my left is shattered into about fifty pieces.

4:10 PM

Found both kids hiding under our bed, playing with the contents of The Box. I won't tell Britt that Princess had that in her mouth. Turns out my shoelaces were tied together as well, so when I got up after the choke hold, I fell flat on my face. Broke another lamp.

4:30 PM

I thought that duct tape might keep the two kids immobile for a little while, but apparently children are too slippery. I taped them to the chairs, walked back to my chair, and by the time I turned around, it was too late. They were gone. In the other room, I heard a bowl smash.

4:45 PM

Both children are now running around the house naked throwing eggs at each other. My voice is completely gone, and I think my hair has turned gray. I tried putting in other movies, like Bambi, or Scooby Doo, but nothing has worked. I tried other stuff like Die Hard or Rambo, and that didn't even hold their attention. Finally, I gave hardcore porn a shot. I think Cyclone might be intrigued. Princess just likes the music and keeps dancing. Thank God I kept that copy of "The World According to Cock".

Avitable's Note: My notes for the last hour and fifteen minutes before Britt returned are mostly gibberish. I could make out "help", "why God why" and "our future?" scribbled several times. The only thing that was actually discernible in any way was this drawing:

Babysitting Journal