What Babysitters Think of Me Before and After a Night Out

Misadventures in babysitting

The doorbell rings. I saunter towards it, turn the handle and smile BIG.

“Hi Mrs. Berg! Wow, you look so pretty!”

Me, pretending to be humble. “Aw thanks sweetie! Come on in.”

I spent 30 minutes curling my hair. I am wearing clothes that aren’t covered in stains. My face is plastered in Target’s finest make up.

I gesture towards my living room.

“Hey boys, please come greet the sitter!”

They coyly tiptoe into the room and I present them like pups at the Westminster Dog Show.

They do a cute little Van Trapp-esque greeting. I swear to God they just bowed.

I give the sitter the 30-second low-down and assure her my children will be perfect angels.

I kiss each one atop their heads and off we go, into the night for a middle-aged adventure of some sort.

“I want a good report boys!” I shout as the door closes behind me.

My husband and I settle into the restaurant that’s too fancy to take our children to and we know this because it has a wine menu and no children are there.

We order an overpriced glass of something French and cheers.

My phone vibrates.

“Hey Mrs. Berg, so sorry to bother you, but the boys are fighting and won’t stop. Any suggestions?”

Tase them, I think, but instead write: “Oh goodness, they are so silly. Just like puppies I swear.

Throw on a movie and they’ll eventually stop!”

30 seconds later —

“Hey Mrs. Berg, the boys are watching something pretty violent and they hid the remote so I can’t turn it off. Really sorry to bother you.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. Tell them if they don’t change it they’ll lose screens tomorrow.”

Now where were we. Ahhh yes, some nice adult time with overpriced wine. My phone pings again.

I chug my $20 glass in 20 seconds and flag the waiter down for more. Maybe this time I’ll ask for tequila.

“Should you just ignore it?” asks my sweet spouse, whose phone has never received a ping from a panicked sitter.

“Ugh, I know — but what if there’s an actual emergency?”

“Like them watching New Jack City again?” He jokes.

“Yes!!” I shout as the waiter approaches.

“I’ll have a dirty martini, please,” I say with desperation dribbling from my lips.

“Oh boy… it’s going to be one of those nights,” adds my husband.

I shoot him a mean side-eye.

I text the sitter back not to panic that they ate a Costco size container of Twizzlers, and then I toss it into my purse.

I feel it vibrating by my foot but I ignore it and enjoy my cocktail and attempt at adult, non-kid-centered conversation with my husband.

The evening progresses and we’re finally carefree. We finish our dinner and decide to go to a wine bar on the way home. Why limit ourselves to just one overpriced wine destination?

As we get comfortable in the hip, buzzy wine bar, I pull out my phone and see I have 27 texts from the sitter and five missed calls.

I flag the waiter down and ask my spouse if we should just get a bottle. He obliges. Texas is a lovely state that allows you to drive with an open container as long as it’s in something sealed, like a doggie-bag for booze.

We each have one glass, look at our phones and realize it’s getting late. Late is anything beyond 8:30.

We wait for the check and our doggie-bag and off we go.

When we arrive home, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Mascara is smudged underneath my eyes that are puffy from the booze and overly salted restaurant food. Somehow my shirt is untucked and my hair is pulled back into the standard, messy bun.

I hear some yelping upstairs and my husband and I do rock, paper, scissors to see who’s on deck for greeting the sitter and the chaos.

Damn it. Paper never wins.

I take off my wobbly heels and trudge upstairs. The sitter does a double-take when she sees me. Yes, it’s the same person who greeted you earlier.

She looks similar — eyes swollen and tired. I’m guessing she cried at one point.

The boys tackle me as I untie the sitter. She gathers her things and runs out the door before the Venmo transaction goes through.

I know I’ll never see her again. I know I’ll be back to square one with the sitter quest. I wonder if going out is worth it.

I bed the boys down and contemplate unsealing the doggie-bag of wine, but decide to save it for a rainy day.

Tomorrow is undoubtedly going to be a rainy day.