The Worst Babysitting Job Ever

I was about 12 years old, I think, when I would babysit frequently for some friends of my parents. Trent and Sheryl had two children at the time, and they were very well behaved kids. Miles was around four or five years old, and I believe Amanda was two.

Trent was in dental school during the era of my babysitting, so to help out with finances, his family lived above a mortuary. If a call came during the night to retrieve a body, he would go and collect it. I'm not sure if he got paid to do this, or if their rent was free as long as they performed their corpse taxi duties, but can you imagine a more exciting job?? Anyway, they lived there above the morgue and hosted some killer Halloween parties, I understand. Sheryl did take me downstairs once to show me a body that was being kept in "the fridge". I have always had a kind of morbid fascination with cemeteries and morgues, and at the same time a paralyzing fear of dead people, so that was a bit of a wicked treat for me.

One evening I was babysitting Miles and Amanda, and I knew it would be quite late before Trent and Sheryl came home, so I had settled in to play games, watch movies and do whatever else the kiddos required for entertainment. Around four-thirty in the afternoon I was playing Hi-Ho Cherry-O with my charges and was interrupted by the sound of a door opening at the bottom of the stairs that led to the morgue. I froze, stiff as one of the poor souls below me that I was then fearing so greatly. My pulse was racing as I listened intently for the sound of footsteps up the stairs or moaning escaping the lips of someone who was presumed dead but awoke, all the contrary, in cold storage and was seeking aid. Eventually I decided that I would not be able to breathe until I made sure that we were not about to be joined by a reanimated being. So I approached the ominous door between the kitchen and the dining area and reached out for the knob. I waited there for a while to make sure I really was prepared to die; I wasn't, but I realized I was left with no choice but to turn the knob. Turning blue in the face from lack of oxygen, I opened the door a crack and peeked down to the bottom landing. There was no one there. There was, however, I neat stack of mail sitting on the third step. Good greif, people! If ever you live upstairs from a pit-stop for the dead, you may want to warn your babysitter that the postman might open the door that serves as barrier between embalming fluid and peach scented potpouri. Otherwise, your sitter might have a heart attack and join the folks downstairs, and then who's looking after your kids, huh?

I quickly recovered from that episode and then I fed the kids spaghettios for dinner, got them bathed and read them a story before bed. Then it was lights out for them, and I did the dishes and then plopped on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. At one thirty in the morning, I awoke to the sound of retching coming from the kids' bedroom. I was up and in there quicker than lightening, and poor Miles, who had an over-active gag reflex, was in the process of throwing up all those spaghettios he had eaten for dinner. Now here's a tip for all you parents out there: If you have a child who is prone to throwing up, do not let him sleep on the top bunk. Poor, sweet Amanda was crying on the bottom bunk, completely covered in vomit with little circle shaped pasta. Miles had leaned over the edge of his bed and ejected his dinner. I have been a mother for eight years now, and I have yet to encounter a mess that rivals the middle of the night vomit fest that Miles treated me to.

that was a long time ago, but the memories will be with me always. I have now been babysitting my nephew, Bryan, for five whole days, and I am pleased to say that despite the fact that I am now wrangling two babies, one two year old and two school age kids with tons of energy, my recent babysitting days have not been near as frightful as that one night above the morgue. I will survive.