"Miss Nina"

I haven't honestly had too much experience babysitting, but I have tested Murphy's Law time and again: if anything can go wrong, it will. So, here are some of my babysitting horror stories.

I was watching four little boys. Two of them, I'd babysat before and they were very well-behaved children. The other two...not so much. The mother had barely left when all four of them charged into the master bedroom and began jumping up and down on the bed. I rushed in and shooed them off. I was replacing pillows when I heard the crash. They'd broken a vase. Her grandmother had given it to her.

On another day, the same four boys decided to play in the backyard. I'd been with them up until I offered to fetch Popsicles for everyone. I didn't make it to the fridge before they burst in the door after me, the youngest boy screaming. All four of them were yelling hysterically and I had no idea what had happened until I looked out the window and saw the swing set on it's side. His brother had been pushing him in the swing and had somehow managed to tip it, dumping the youngest into a thorny rosebush. The poor little boy had thorns all in his arm. Eventually, we patched him up and I placated them with the previously promised Popsicles. I still had to explain to the parents why his Green Goblin suit was mangled and torn.

Once, my sister and I offered to babysit four children for free, to give their parents a night off. They were adorable and we had so much fun watching them. However, as we were reading a bedtime story, Will tugged on my sleeve and pointed to the fireplace, whispering, "Can I go get a baggie to put that in?" "That" was a hairy juicy spider clinging to the bricks at about eye level. My sister and I armed ourself with a tennis shoe and a broom, debating who should take the first swing. Just as I summoned my courage, let out a war cry, and whacked at the beast, their parents walked in. What they saw were their four children rooting us on from the couch as the babysitters they had hired attacked their fireplace. It turns out, they do not kill bugs found in their house. They calmly and humanely catch them to be returned to their natural habitat outside.

My co-pastor hired me once. His wife was singing in a concert that night, and he'd been called on last minute to preach and so was preparing his sermon. Their children were fun and well behaved. The older sister helped me out a lot. After bath time, though, the three-year-old little boy ventured on down the hall while I drained the tub and put the bath toys away. I had forgotten to dry his feet; the hall was tile. A wail filled the house. His sister and I were by his side in seconds. He'd slipped and hit his chin on the corner of the baseboard. I told his sister to go call their dad. While I mopped his chin, I kept telling the whimpering little boy "You're doing so great. Look at you! You're so brave." I didn't know what else to say. He had to get 6 stitches. His mom was alerted that her son was in the emergency room during intermission; her solo was next. The following Sunday, the whole ordeal found it's way into the sermon. Our co-pastor started tearing up. Kindly, the family omitted my name from any public accounts of the accident.

Finally, while I was babysitting for another family, I was bored. The two little girls were asleep already and I hadn't brought anything to do. Since I couldn't figure out how to shut the tv off anyway, I decided to channel surf. I happened across a movie we'd watched in my English class, Shakespeare's "Love's Labour's Lost". And what is on the tv when their mother gets home? Steamy music while the camera pans up a fishnet-clad leg, red skirt swirling. "Uh...hi... How do you turn this off?"

It really was Shakespeare, I promise!