Patsy Porco

Archive for the ‘Babysitting’ Category

Two Christmas Trees

In Babysitting, Christmas Season, Humor on December 10, 2017 at 4:13 pm

The other night, I babysat two young boys, aged 4 and 7, while their parents, Jodie and Joe, went to dinner with another couple.

Christmas TreeJodie is Jewish and Joe is Catholic. Jodie solved “the Christmas tree conundrum” by putting up a Christmas tree and decorating it with blue and white Hanukkah lights. The ornaments are mainly Santas and snowmen, though, since they’re much more plentiful in stores than dreidels or latkes. Jodie did, however, manage to find a few Hanukkah ornaments, and also hung several of those handmade picture frames that elementary-school teachers are required by law to have their students make. This year, Jodie persuaded Joe to buy a fake tree. It was so tall and full that I couldn’t tell that it wasn’t a real tree until I touched it. Even though it looked like a real tree, Joe didn’t like it on principle.

In keeping with the holiday spirit, I had brought an unconstructed gingerbread house to make with the boys. I have never made a successful gingerbread house. Even though I always buy the pre-made gingerbread, I am never able to get the walls to stand up and the roof to stay on. This one had interlocking walls. You would think that would have been foolproof. You would have been wrong. The notched pieces mostly stuck together, or the pieces that didn’t break off did. The adhesive was made of confectioner’s sugar, and the picture on the box made it look like it would be easy to pipe it out of the bag without slopping it down the sides of the walls and all over the roof. It wasn’t. Confectioner’s-sugar glue dries instantaneously, so you can’t wipe it off when it drools all over the gingerbread. You just have to move on. I built the house by myself in order to avoid more mayhem than necessary and then called the boys over to decorate it.

The plan was for me to dab sugar-glue on the house and the boys would stick candy all over the walls and roof. Those kits are stingy when it comes to how much candy they supply so we would have run out even if the kids didn’t eat most of it. Luckily, they knew where their mother hid candy, so they were able to find enough to make up for what they consumed, plus plenty extra. When it was all done, the house didn’t look bad. It didn’t look especially good, but it was festive. It was also germ-ridden since one of the boys had a cold and the other kept licking the candy before sticking it onto the house.

Afterwards, we had some leftover candy canes. I remembered that I had seen a recipe for handmade candy ornaments, so I decided to melt the candy canes and then pour the liquid into cookie-cutter molds. The three of us smashed candy canes and I put them on a plastic plate which I transferred into the microwave oven. I melted it for a minute at a time, stirred the candy, and then microwaved it for another minute. I kept doing this until it was melted … along with the plastic plate. The boys thought it was hilarious that one of their dinner plates had a big hole in it. I doubted their parents would be as amused.

Then I lined a cookie sheet with waxed paper and put a plastic Christmas-tree cookie cutter and an angel cookie cutter on top of the waxed paper. I poured the melted candy canes into the molds. The liquid went into the molds and right out the bottom, spreading all over the waxed paper and melting the empty plastic cookie cutters. I added two Christmas Cookie Cutterscookie cutters to the list of things I had to replace.

I took a picture of the melted plate and cookie cutters and sent a text to Jodie: “I owe you a plastic Christmas tree and angel cookie cutter and a plastic plate, which I melted.” I attached the picture and sent the text. I then cleaned up the mess and told the boys that they were forbidden to eat any more candy. They each grabbed a handful of candy and scurried off to watch TV. In the meantime, Jodie sent me back a text saying, “No worries.”

After the boys were in bed, I sat in the living room with their adorable poodle puppy. Suddenly, the puppy woke up and went to the garage door. Somehow, she had heard her parents come home, whereas I had heard nothing. This says something about who was really watching the house. I heard the inside door to the garage door open and I called out, “Hello!” A strange woman answered, “Hi!” The dog didn’t seem alarmed, so I decided not to be either. The woman came into the living room and said that she and her husband had gone to dinner with Jodie and Joe. She said that they and her husband would be right in. I introduced myself.

She laughed and said, “Jodie was freaking out when she thought you burned down her Christmas tree.” ”

What?” I asked.

She laughed again. “Jodie read your text about melting her tree to us at dinner. She really lost it.”

“I didn’t burn down her tree,” I said. “I melted a Christmas-tree ornament.”

We figured that out,” she said, “when Joe took the phone from her and said that there was a picture attached. Then we saw what you had melted.”

Right then, Jodie, Joe, and the woman’s husband came in. I said goodnight to everyone and Jodie walked me to the door. I told her I was sorry that I had melted the ornaments and the plate. She said, very calmly, “No problem at all. I was initially a little surprised by your text, but we eventually figured out what you were talking about.”

“I’m sorry I upset you,” I said. “I’ll replace the plate and the cookie cutters.”

“I wasn’t upset at all,” she said. “I am happy, however, that the tree wasn’t burned down.”

Her husband called out from the kitchen, “I’m not.”

Jodie shot him an annoyed look.

Joe needs to learn how to sugar-coat the truth like his wife does.

 

 

Bouncing Babies

In Babysitting, Humor on June 14, 2013 at 6:27 pm

As I helplessly watched the baby roll off of her changing table and head toward the floor, I had a flashback to a similar incident that happened 36 years ago.

Last week, Maggie, the baby I watch twice a week, decided to roll over when I was two steps away from her.  She was lying on her table and I told her to stay still. She understands words, even though she can’t speak many yet. She usually listens. However, this time, I turned to grab a diaper from her diaper bag, and when I looked back, she was on her way to the floor. I could see her horrified expression, which probably mirrored my own. I ran to get her and was only able to catch her head. I think I remember some twisting and contortion of the rest of her body, but I was focused on saving her head. After a lot of frightened crying, she finally calmed down. It wasn’t until I tried to stand her up that I realized that one of her feet was hurt.

When her mother got home, she took the accident in stride, telling me that Maggie once flipped off the narrow end of the changing table and ended up in the laundry basket. The mother took Maggie to the doctor the next day for X-rays. The X-rays showed an intact foot, with no broken bones, but, a week later, Maggie is still refusing to stand on that foot, which means that she gets carried everywhere until she heals. I can’t complain, seeing as her injury happened on my watch.

The other incident took place in 1977 and involved an infant named Luke.  Luke’s parents lived in a modern, wooden, three-story A-frame house with balconies and backless staircases. I was 17, and this was my first babysitting job with them. It was Halloween weekend and when I arrived, Luke’s parents said that they were going to a costume party and would change into their costumes when they arrived at the party. The little boy, Luke, was a few months shy of a year old. He was totally bald, very pale, and in the crawling stage.

A few hours after his parents left, he fell down 20 backless steps into the basement level before I could get to him. I know this sounds negligent, but anyone with a crawling infant knows how fast they move. We had been in the little TV room and he quickly crawled out the door to the top of the steps and fell down them. I ran down the steps to get him, calmed him down, and called my mother. She told me not to let him go to sleep, in case he had a concussion.

I carried Luke back into the TV room and closed the door, to prevent any more escapes. Luke watched television while I watched him.

Suddenly, I heard a pounding on the TV room door. I opened it and saw Luke’s father covered in blood and holding a large knife. I screamed. He screamed.

“Why didn’t you answer the phone?” he asked, in a panic.

“I didn’t hear it ring,” I answered. “Are you okay? What happened to you?”

“Why didn’t you hear the phone? I called over and over,” he asked, ignoring my question. This was many decades before cell phones, and home phones were the only means of instant communication. Their downstairs phone was in the kitchen.

“The TV was on and the door was closed, ” I answered. “This room must become sound proof when the door is closed.”

“Oh,” the father said. “It does.” He visibly relaxed, but he was still spattered with blood.

“Why do you have blood all over you?” I asked. He seemed confused, then looked down at himself.

“This is my Halloween costume,” he said. “My wife and I got dressed when we got to the party,” he reminded me.

“Where is your wife?” I asked.

“She’s still at the party. She didn’t worry when you didn’t answer the phone. She said that you probably didn’t hear it if you were in the TV room.”

I looked at him, covered in blood, clutching a rubber knife, wearing a bandanna and an eye patch. “You’re a pirate, ” I realized belatedly.

“Yes,” he said. He looked down on the floor next to the couch, where Luke was asleep on a blanket. “What’re those marks on his head?” he asked, alarm returning to his voice.

“Oh my God,” I said. During the time that I was talking to Luke’s father, large black and blue bumps had appeared on his bald head. “That just happened,” I said. “He fell down the steps an hour ago, but he didn’t have any bruises until now.”

“He fell down the steps?” he asked in amazement. “I’m going to pick up my wife and we’ll be right back. Stay in this room and close the door. I won’t call.” He made a dash for the front door.

When he and his wife returned, the wife was very calm. “Don’t worry about it, Patsy,” she said. “He moves very fast and he’s fallen before. Bruises on his bald head usually look worse than they are. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight and take him to the doctor tomorrow if he looks worse.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you so much.”

She laughed. “I hear that my husband scared you out of your wits when you saw him.” I nodded. “You should go home and relax,” she said.

“Thanks, I will,” I said. “And I’m sorry about what happened to Luke.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

After I was paid for endangering the life of their child, I gathered up my belongings and started toward the door.

“Wait,” the mother called out.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Are you available next Saturday night?”

“Sure,” I said.

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