The Keys to the Lex

Being a babysitter to four kids under the age of eight (with the last name of “Lin”) takes a special person. You’re either really brave or you have a screw loose. It might have to be a little of both.

You also have to have a lot of self-confidence or they’ll run right over you and knock the wind out of your lungs so hard you’ll be gasping on the ground like a fish out of water. I know this because this is what I look like at the end of every day.

We have had some GREAT ones. I’ll leave their names out of this so they can continue to live in the private sector, but they are super stars– the “hall of fame” of all babysitters.

But…as life has happened… here we are. All of the “greats” have grown up and gone off to college… how DARE they grow up.

And so we’re in the process of finding more superstars.

Imagine the set of America’s got talent. And I’m Simon Cowell.

Of course I am. I’m super skeptical and we’re talking the welfare of my kids. So just having a fabulous voice like Pavarotti isn’t going to cut it. You’ll need to juggle four wine glasses, hop on one foot and THEN sing “The Queen of the Night” aria from Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” In one breath.

Then I *might* raise an eyebrow.

Today, “Christina” has taken the reigns.

A sixteen-year-old full of wide-eyed possibilities and dreams of babysitting Kum bah ya, I filled her in on how the day was going, complete with the number of “number-twos” that Rachel had procured.

The boys were attempting to fold laundry and I put Christina in charge of directing that show.

I gathered my belongings (ecstatic I could leave the diaper bag at home) and prepared to sneak out the front door.

Darn. They saw me.

All kids started in on their grievances against each other and who wasn’t doing what and who was irritating whom. My name was being worn out as the voices melted into a cacophony of lament.

I looked at Christina and waved my hand as if to block out the noise.

“Christina– handle it.”

And then I ran like I had ten thousand bees chasing me.

Before you feel sorry for this gal, let me tell you that we make it rain for our babysitters. We WANT them to come back. We WANT them to push through the pain and if we’re going to spend money anywhere, we want to spend it on the Mary Poppinses who will sing all the songs and kick up their heels– and give the kids an earful when they’re being jerks, of course.

That being said, it’s a double-edged sword. From a babysitter’s perspective, it’s like someone handing you keys to a shiny new Lexus.

“So, here’s the deal. You can have this Lexus. It looks really great on the outside. But there’s a pretty decent chance there might be something wrong with it. It could have a small leak in the radiator or it could completely break down and the wheels would fall off. I can’t promise you anything at this point. But it’s so cute isn’t it?”

Do you take the Lexus with the possibility you could break down on the side of the road or do you run for the hills back to the relative safety of your parents’ house and a list of chores they want you to do that day?

The brave ones stay and find out what happens to the Lex. And mostly, that’s all you need. Like the great John Wayne who was really fake-brave in the movies, “Courage is being scared to death – and saddling up anyway.” In the game of babysitting, you’ve got to get in the saddle, drive that horsepower and figure out what to do when the wheels fall off.

I’m currently writing to you from the salon– the “car salon” to be more accurate. Shelby the Pathfinder’s getting her hair did and fluids changed to prepare for our grand summer road trip. She’s drinking in the liquid courage necessary to take on the four kids and all the accoutrements.

We’re doing everything we can to prevent the wheels falling off…

But you just never know.

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