The best babysitter award that I really didn’t want to hand out

So, if you read my last post, you may have learned that I’m a bit…neurotic.  Maybe I tend to overthink things a bit.  I just…I, well, I wish that maybe I would have written that post, pressed “Save Draft,” then re-read it later and rolled my eyes at myself.  It’s not that I am not worried about over indulging my children on Christmas, I AM, but I think that perhaps I was a bit melodramatic about it and blaming poor ol’ Santa.  I think what it’s really all about is that my house is a mess and frankly, I’m already tired thinking about putting away all their new toys.

Thanks for your supportive comments.  And by supportive comments I mean, I could hear you sighing and shaking your head at me, but then gently smiling and telling me what I needed to hear.  You guys, we would so totally be friends in real life.

Okay, so let’s move on and pretend that I’m a totally normal, well adjusted human being that doesn’t project her feelings on unsuspecting bearded men wearing red suits!

Saturday night was my husband’s annual work Christmas party.  Since our babysitter was totally SELFISH and decided to go away to college (RUDE!), I had to find someone new to stay with Carson and Ella.

Let me back up a bit and tell you that both of my children had been sick, Carson especially so, but on Saturday they both seemed FINE.  Perfectly fine!  Healthy, even.  Carson seemed to be over his “puke in bed every night” illness, so I wasn’t worried about leaving him with a babysitter.  OH THE FORESHADOWING.

When the new babysitter arrived, Tate asked her about what she was studying in school.  Turns out that our new babysitter is training to be a paramedic, which fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) came in quite handy while she was on duty.

It was the pile of Carson’s sheets, his PJs, and Lou Bear by the laundry room that we found as soon as we got home that was the first clue.

I expected to find pure chaos when I found the babysitter and Carson. If I had ever had to deal with puke as a babysitter, I would have freaked the freak out! The babysitter, looking calm yet concerned, was just toweling off a freshly bathed and very pale Carson when I found them.  Apparently my poor little guy had puked in his bed and had some other “issues” of the bottom.  Super Paramedic Babysitter had already cleaned him AND his room up.

I apologized profusely to her for having left her with a sick kid and having to deal with vomit, etc.  She seemed completely unfazed.  “It’s just body fluids,” she said. “And it easier to deal with when it’s from a cute kid.”

“Just body fluids” that don’t belong to your own child, cute or not, are still BODY FLUIDS of the disgusting kind.

I felt like I should pay her double, no quadruple, and then offer to send her on an all expense paid trip to Jamaica or something.

And on top of all that, she’d cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. She wins at babysitting.

I’m not sure if I can ever call her again to babysit after all this.  I mean, can I?