Babysitting isn't always giggles, playing, and fun times. Sometimes is dirty, exhausting, and alarming. These babysitters had it rough and it was the last straw for them. Between angry diaper rashes and shootings, there's a lot to cover. And coupled with crazy kids and terrible parents these babysitters didn't stand a chance. Content edited for clarity.
“Big Mistake”
“I have run in-home daycares in every state I’ve lived in, and almost from the beginning of my doing this, I had this type of experience within a couple of months.
One set of parents had a four-year-old and a six-month-old. They were friends of my sister, so I agreed to care for their kids. BIG MISTAKE!
Seems the 4-year-old was violent. So much so that at night the parents locked their bedroom door shut against him coming into their room. He’d taken an electric knife to the couch, and neither one stopped him. After the baby was born, he would pull the crib over, dumping the baby out, and neither one stopped him. He rode unseated in the car, so they wouldn’t have to listen to him scream about being in a belted seat. He would get into the fridge and choose what he wanted to eat instead of what he was given. That point alone caused a serious issue, as he thought he could do it to me. I wouldn’t let him, and when he’d start screaming, I’d put him in a cold shower, fully clothed. It would shock him out of the tantrum, and soon he’d stopped the bad behavior there.
One day they arrived with a container of orange juice and some glycerin suppositories. It seemed the boy had force-fed the baby both baby powder and baby oil. The baby was totally constipated. They claimed the doctor told them to feed a six-month-old nothing but orange juice and stick the suppositories in to soften the poop. I called my own doctor for confirmation and was told to come to the ER immediately with the baby. Child Social Services was waiting, and BOY did I report!
That evening when they arrived to pick them up, CSS was waiting. I told the parents to never return, and I even canceled their bill just to get rid of them. They were arrested that moment as well for child endangerment. I thought my sister would be angry with me, but she was actually relieved! She felt she couldn’t turn them in since they were friends, but she knew I wouldn’t let the problems lie for long. The parents never got their kids back. The boy had to be institutionalized shortly after, and the baby was adopted out.
These people take first place as world’s worst parents!”
Like A Horror Movie
“I only babysat for that family once, so it was the first and last time. I never wanted the job in the first place. The mother had asked my mother if I would sit for her. My sister, the consummate babysitter, already had a job for another family.
When I was in junior high, I lived in a very small rural town, and the parents I was to babysit for were going to the annual community street dance. When I got to their farmhouse, I saw the house was unfinished; no curtains anywhere, and there was construction debris (nails, tools, wood scraps, etc.) all over. Only the kitchen and kids’ bedrooms were finished. The mother told me the eight-month-old was sick and had diarrhea, and he had never been left with anyone before. There were moose rutting in the back pastures, so don’t worry about the godawful noises they make. There were reports of rabies in the area, so don’t let the dogs inside, and don’t go out. I was already too upset to ask if the dogs were vaccinated, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were. Since the street dance had a reputation of drinking, vandalism, and the occasional assault, both of the protective pieces were loaded and leaning against the door frame. The four-year-old knew how to reload them if I needed to shoot anyone (!!!). The parents promised to be home no later than 10:00 pm.
All I could think about was getting home as soon as possible. It was the mid-80s, so ubiquitous cell phones were a long way off. There was no way to contact the parents once they left.
The baby cried – no, screamed – non-stop all night. In fact, the only time I put him down was to change his diapers, and that happened nine times that night. He never settled down.
The four-year-old boy was honestly a treasure. He was bored and wanted to play, but he did help feed and change his baby brother. He said he understood why I couldn’t play. But he was four, and needed attention too. We watched through the dining room window as his favorite dog fought with several raccoons, both of us crying. I had to ask him repeatedly not to run barefoot through construction areas, and to leave the tools alone. We didn’t need to shoot anyone after all, but he amused himself playing with the extra shells.
The parents finally returned at 2:30 a.m. without an apology, and the father drove me home. He was wasted. Scary. And country roads are dark. At least he was too zooted to get handsy.
I never babysat again.”
They Were Shooting At Her!
“I was reading after the baby went to sleep when I first heard it. I stood up to go check on the dog when I heard the crunch of breaking glass. The back of this house was all windows. I could hear soft popping noises, then saw holes appearing in the windows. I went to the doorway and was relieved the windows were intact, but only for a minute.
I heard more popping noises as bullet holes started appearing in the dining room windows; that’s when it occurred to me that the shots were actually being aimed at me. I was standing by the light switches and I slapped them off as I hit my knees. I crawled into the kitchen, cutting those lights off as I grabbed the cordless phone and the list of emergency numbers.
The shots had moved into the kitchen as I did, so I crawled to the side of a butcher block island with the phone. At this particular time in history, you could get cheaper long-distance rates by joining a provider; you accessed it by punching in a code that was 12–15 digits long, then you waited for a certain noise and entered the second string of numerals. It was complicated and a pain under normal circumstances. Doing it in the dark while hearing bullets coming at me made it 15 times harder. I finally got through to the parents.
I said, ‘Someone is shooting at me from the back of the house. I’m taking Mikey to my house, you can pick him up whenever you want.’
They said, ‘Nancy wait, surely…’ but I hung up.
I got Mikey from his crib and wrapped him in a quilt, then held him in front of me with his head below the level of my shoulders. I settled him, still sleeping, into the back seat of my car, tossed the quilt over him, and took off. When I carried him into my house, Mikey’s parents had called already; they had given the impression to my roommate’s family that I was being silly. They called the police, then went to check on their house and saw that several windows in three different rooms either had bullet holes or else had shattered completely
The police went around the neighborhood and found a group of teenagers with a CO2 pellet shooter. That is basically a high-powered BB shooter, but they were shooting pellets that were much larger than BB’s. They claimed to have not seen anyone, they were just randomly shooting. I called baloney then, and I still call it now. My guess is they were definitely shooting at me, they just were not sure they had enough power to break the windows or hit me.
Aside from scaring the living daylights out of me, they had done $4k worth of damage to the huge plate glass windows and the sliding glass door. The police let them go with a warning, as long as they (their parents) replaced the glass.”
Not Fit To Be A Mother
“I started babysitting for a neighbor. I didn’t know them well, but my older step-sister babysat for them from time to time. She suggested I could babysit. My youngest sister was friends with one of their kids, the only daughter.
They were a blended family. She had three children from her first marriage. He had two from his first marriage, and together they had two more. Seven kids on weekends, as the husband’s kids lived with their mother during the week.
The wife did not work. They had almost no food in the house and for lunch, so I would call my sisters to bring me cans of soup from our house. The kid’s bedrooms were dirty, so I cleaned them and washed their sheets on my first shift (not enough sheets or beds for each kid). The wife always had her fake nails done in a French manicure. I recall babysitting one day, and she brought takeout for her and the husband, but not the children. As I left, the kids were literally drooling sitting at her feet, watching her eat cheesy fries and hamburgers.
As I mentioned this woman did not work. She asked me if I was available to work a few hours each day for two weeks. I agreed. (I was 15 at the time, and it was summer vacation. I had a part-time weekend job in my dad’s store, where he paid me $5 an hour). I did not know where she went all day. I babysat from 7:00 a.m. each day, but the days got longer and longer. I remember her telling me she would be home around 3:00 p.m. She did not return until 11:00 p.m. each night. For two nights, she did not return at all. (Husband drove a truck, and I suspect she may have been with him and/or having an affair). I was so exhausted one day I fell asleep and dropped her youngest, a seven-month-old baby on his sweet little face. I cried and had my mom come over to look at him. When I told the woman what I had done, she didn’t think it was a big deal! His face was bruised.
My own mother was livid and furious that the woman hadn’t come home. I talked my mom out of reaming her a new one. My mother also wanted to call child protective services, but I defended the woman.
She was an angry person. Her daughter always came over crying. One day she showed me her bum, hip, and thigh. Bruised. She said her mother kicked her and also kicked her in her private areas. I was horrified. I didn’t know what to do. I witnessed her slapping her son. He was nine and so very angry. He cried a lot too. I cried when she slapped his face.
At the end of the two weeks, she begrudgingly told me she would pay me next time. I was disappointed but agreed that was ok. A week or so later after finishing yet another shift, the woman came home and tossed $50 at me. $50!!!! $50 frigging dollars for 225 something hours with five to seven kids!!!!! That’s less than 25 cents an hour!!! This was the early 2000’s. I made at least $2.00 babysitting for other ppl and they only had three kids tops! I was disheartened. I walked home disappointed. That was it for me.
When the woman called again a few days later, my mom answered and said that I wouldn’t be babysitting for her anymore.
A year later, the woman let a male friend babysit. He wrongfully abused her only daughter. She lost custody of her three children from her previous marriage. They got to live with their daddy. All three spoke highly of him. All expressed to me during my time babysitting that they just wanted to live with their dad. But their mom wouldn’t let them.
I think about those kids sometimes, especially her first three. I hope they grew up having a good and happy life. I hope nobody ever kicked them or smacked them around after they were removed. Most of all, I hope they were not damaged or scarred for life. I hope they grew up to have beautiful fruitful lives.”
“That Would Have Been Nice To Know”
“I stayed with my grandparents to attend the university I wanted. I didn’t have to pay room and board, just do chores, but this was also after 2008, so it was a lot tougher to find a job around classes. Eventually I turned to babysitting, which at least put gas in the car.
The first was a new couple from my grandparent’s church. I knew them from yearly summer visits and knew their eldest, a girl I’ll call ‘H’, when she was a baby. When I moved in with my grandparents and started babysitting, H was three and had a newborn brother, ‘R’. Still nursing and in diapers. I babysat nearly every Sunday evening for three years, so the parents could go to orchestra practice, I wanna say starting from 5:00-6:00 p.m. until whenever they got home, which was usually around 11:00 p.m.
The first night I started, I asked what the parents wanted me to do, and the kid’s routine. Did I need to feed them? Bathe or brush teeth? Was the baby on a feeding schedule? What time should I put them to bed?
They had none. They didn’t even have a bedtime, I could do anything whenever. In fact, the mom acted like she wanted them awake. I privately decided to do things on a routine to get them started, because what about when school starts for H and she had no bedtime?
The first night was the worst. I’m good with babies, and I couldn’t get R to settle. He wouldn’t stop crying when I tried to put him to bed. At eight, I tried putting both to bed, which is when I learned they didn’t sleep in their room, but in mom’s bed. I asked H where dad sleeps and turns out it was a whole different room. I got both in pajamas, H to brush her teeth, and then told her to pick out a few books. She asked why. Why read her bedtime stories to go to sleep? It was like I handed her the moon, she told me and her parents confirmed they didn’t read before bed. Then why were there kid books near the bed? I read until she was sleepy, but she refused to go to sleep. R was still crying, especially when I tried putting him down, and his crying made H cry. For hours. I still couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong and cried myself.
The parents finally came home, mom rushing up to the kids. The dad paid me and asked how it went, I explained my frustration with R and hoped everything was okay.
‘Oh she nurses him to sleep, didn’t we tell you,’ he said.
That would have been nice to know.
So for the next three years, every Sunday night was the same. I’d grab bags of kid books from the library to read to them. I’d read myself hoarse. R wouldn’t settle unless he had a book in his hands until he was out. Neither of them was afraid of the dark, but both were scared of sleeping alone because mom STILL slept with them (six and three years old). So I’d literally leave the bedroom door open, hall light on, and lay in the hallway doing homework.
Then one day when H was five or six I was making them supper. They were playing in the living room where I can see them over the halfway. See them, look down to stir the soup, not 20 seconds later, R was tugging on my pants saying H was gone. I asked what he meant and noticed I couldn’t see her, maybe hide and seek? He pointed to the locked, childproof front door that was wide open. I grabbed R to my hip, sprinted outside to the cul-de-sac street yelling for her, and saw the next-door house door is wide open. I yelled for her into the doorway, H came out with the next-door girl around her age. H wanted to play with her so she left. I asked the girl for her parents and to go get them, I insist. The girl came back with her mom, who was dead asleep and angry with me, even when I described what happened. You left your young kid unsupervised? And the front door unlocked? The parents didn’t think much of it either when they got home and told them what H did. Uh. Your kid knows how to get out of the childproofing???
Then, H went to preschool, and her father was teaching night classes a couple of days a week. R would get dropped off on teaching nights, and I’d watch him until it was time to pick up H, until either Dad or Mom picked them up, or took them to their house, until one parent was home. This was in addition to Sunday nights. Oh, how they complained, ‘H was so difficult to get ready at night and in the morning.’ Yeah, you dummies I wonder why because she’s had no routine outside of once a week and suddenly you are giving her one?
What might have been the final straw was one-day. The six-year-old in preschool H waddles out of the bathroom, pants around her ankles. I asked what she’s doing. I was informed I needed to wipe her butt. Thinking it’s a weird kid joke, I ask why. She insisted I need to.
‘H you’ve been potty-trained for years you know how to!’ I said.
‘No, I don’t,’ she whined, ‘Daddy or Mommy wipes me.’
I asked what she did at preschool, and she informed me that she didn’t use the potty and would wait until she’s home. I marched her back in and taught her how to do it, gently explaining how and why.
There were a lot of discipline problems in the house, in that there were none. Outside of no routine the mom didn’t discipline and didn’t allow the dad too. They’d run the roost and destroy whenever they visited my grandparents. My grandmother was so appalled, she stopped inviting them over.”
Against Her Better Judgement
“I needed money desperately, and one night my friend found someone who needed a sitter. She hooked us up and I went and met with her and her two sons (ages two and three) that night.
Turned out that I went to school with her sister-in-law, and my friend rode on the same bus as her husband and sister-in-law. Also, my dad was really good friends with her in-laws, so I took the job. We set up a schedule and payment plan. I was supposed to get $20 a day.
When they were supposed to move, they asked if I would go from $20 a day to $200 every other week, whether I worked it or not.
Against my better judgment, I did as I wanted to help them out. My days started getting longer and they would forget to pay me. I had to ask them every day they were supposed to pay me, because if I didn’t, they would forget.
On the day before I went on a planned three-day trip with my friend, it was a payday. I asked first off when I got there to be paid since I needed the money for the trip. She outright said I didn’t work enough to get paid, plus I was asking for too much time off and I asked to leave early a lot. I only asked to leave early twice in the five months I had been working for her, and I asked for the three days off a month in advance so she would have an appropriate amount of time to find a sitter.
I argued with her over it and she left or she and her husband would be late for work. I was upset and called my mom telling her that day would be my last day. My mom told me to talk it over with her after she got home and then the kids’ mom called while I was on the phone with my mom. She ended up only paying me half of what she owed me. After they left, I drove home still upset but semi-cooled down.
Fast-forward to a month later. I had to be at her house at 7:00 a.m., and I got there at 6:45, so she would have more than enough time to get her husband to work and then get to work herself. She knew I was going to stay with my friend that night, and her mom was gonna have dinner ready by no later than 5:30. She called at 4:30 and said she was going to pick up her husband and they would be home. I said fine, since I thought I was still gonna be at my friend’s house around 5:30. 5:30 rolls around and nothing. I call her, and there is no answer. I call her husband and there is no answer. I text my friend to let her know I couldn’t reach them. When I finally got her, she was like, oh, we decided to go grocery shopping. I was upset and knew then and there I was done. I told her she knew I had someplace to be, and she said oh we are on our way home. This was at 6:15. It only takes twenty minutes to get from where they were to their house. At 7:15, I call my mom and tell her what’s going on, as I tried calling her again and she wasn’t answering.
My mom asked for her number and called her repeatedly until she answered. Her excuse was they had to put air in their tire and she left her phone in the car. My mom is like is that why she couldn’t get ahold of you for half an hour? She then told her that she better get someone to her house so I could go home as I had been there for over twelve hours and I wasn’t getting paid enough for that time. As soon as her sister-in-law came to her house (oh yeah forgot to mention that her sister-in-law didn’t have a job at that point and lived basically next door with her mom) I left. I got out of the house and called my dad and waited ten minutes in the freezing cold because I didn’t want to be in that house anymore.
I cried all night. My friend felt horrible for setting me up with her, heated up supper for me, and helped me fill out multiple applications online for stores in our area. I got home the next day and called the woman I babysat for and asked if I could meet her somewhere to get paid because it was a payday. She of course forgot about paying me, but sent her husband to meet with me. When I got home from that, I sat in my room, and when my mom called as she was getting ready to come home from work, I made the decision to message her and tell her I was done. I apologized for not doing it face to face but I had to do it as it was affecting me and my relationship with my family and friends.
She ended up blocking me as soon as she read the message, and when I woke up to see if she responded, around three in the morning and seen she blocked me, I rejoiced. I felt bad about leaving the boys, as I did love them, and I loved their cat too, but I had to do what was best for me. If it wasn’t for the horrible working conditions, I would have stayed longer, but now I’m happy where I am and the kids’ mother and I are on speaking terms, so that’s that.”
Complete Chaos Part One
“I have been a nanny/sitter since I was 11, and I have a total of 14 years now under my belt. I have loved almost all of the kids I’ve watched and help to raise. It’s one of my greatest joys and treasured memories, but there was one where it was truly not a good fit, and I almost died from it. I was in my sophomore year of college, studying psychology and development. My development professor introduced us to the wife of a professor in the math department, who had recently had her second baby. I had met them at my church. They knew my priest and my housemother at the sorority I lived in.
My professor asked after the class presentation on childbirth and early infancy if any of us were certified to babysit. I immediately volunteered, as I had just taken a refresher course by Red Cross at our student community center, to keep my licensure in childcare and lifeguarding. Soon the wife called me, whom I’ll call ‘Alyssa’ here on out, saying she would love for me to watch her two boys: ‘Miles’ and ‘Oliver’ (keeping all names private here) while she caught up on work and ran errands. I was excited as I had missed babysitting, having been up at college five hours away from home in the middle of nowhere.
It started out on a snowy January after winter break, I started up my old 1999 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo and trucked on over the bridge to Alyssa’s home. When I entered the house, it was in disarray which can happen with a new baby and I was happy to help. I was greeted by a dirty Miles who was covered head to toe in dirt and salt. I picked him up and began to wipe him off as he tried to eat the salt. Alyssa told me she lets him play in the salt and grit bucket by the door for the ice outside. I was surprised but not overly critical (as I didn’t want to be rude to Alyssa, having had my priest and house mother talked me up as I often helped out at the Sunday school) but I knew it was toxic, so I put it up high so he couldn’t reach. Walking into the house, the carpet was filthy with mud smashed in, the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes and flies all over. Alyssa was sitting at her laptop and was in her own world, and obviously, when Miles came to her with mud from the plants he was eating and I was trying to get them out of his mouth.
‘Oh just let him eat the plants, Louisa. If God made plants, then they shouldn’t hurt him,’ she told me.
Then I made him stop eating them, and I gave him a fruit snack instead. Little Oliver was asleep in a broken swing that was suspended from the wood beam in the hallway. When I checked on him, he was wet and dirty, clearly in need of a diaper.
I hunted all over and was told by Alyssa, ‘Oh I’m behind on my wash, so that’s the last of the cloth diapers! He’ll have to wait and I’ll do the wash tonight!’
I asked if there were any disposable diapers I could to help prevent rash and infection, Alyssa shrugged and pointed to the bathroom. I found Miles’s pull-ups and made an improvised diaper for Oliver, who had an angry rash and was fussy from being unclean. His umbilical cord was still on and hadn’t fallen off, I was careful to wash it gently.
Soon both boys were comfortable, and I had them down for a nap. I started to help clean and do laundry, but the stench from old diapers was the worst. They were in a giant pile, and many hadn’t been swished out so fecal matter stuck to everything. I scrubbed, washed, bleached, disinfected, and cleaned until my own skin was raw. Alyssa thanked me and then asked where I had put the wipes after I had cleaned Oliver after changing him. I told her in the trash, of course. She dug them out and then rinsed them with vinegar.
‘We don’t throw anything out! I use these to clean the floor and table. He’s nursing, so the milk in the poop will be clean because I’m clean,’ she told me.
I was so disgusted, and I gently told her that she could spread E. coli and other dangerous illnesses. She sighed and threw them back in the trash, then agreed to let me scrub the floor and table with a set of Mr. Clean sponges that her mother-in-law had given her.
I sat for them a total of ten times for two weeks. The two that were the last straw occurred when Miles got chickenpox after he was exposed by another child who had it and was told to kiss him by Alyssa. He ended up being kicked out of preschool for it, as it came out he wasn’t vaccinated, a scandal that the whole church knew about. Miles was so itchy and upset, I ended up holding him the entire day while Alyssa visited her sister an hour away in another state. Miles ended up getting spots on his eyelids as well. He was so miserable.
When I first got to the house, and Alyssa handed me the very itchy and fevered Miles. She told me, ‘I’ll be in Theif River Falls, call me if anything changes. Oh, and Oliver is sleeping in his room.’ And she flew out the door.”
Continued below.
Chaos Part Two
“I located the calamine lotion on the dining room table after walking in, when I heard a crash and a thud muffled screaming followed almost sounding like a kitten. I ran to the room I heard the noise from after putting Miles in the playpen with his trains. A huge pile of clothing had been placed around a falling apart pack’n play and inside of it. The entire structure was filled with clothes, the muffled screaming was from underneath. My heart sank, and I frantically tore through them to find Oliver buried underneath, red-faced with purple lips. I called the next-door neighbor, who was a nurse, and she told me that as long as he was crying and breathing fine, to gently rock him and keep him with me. I also called Alyssa, who agreed with the nurse. Then she told me not to bring him to the hospital, as they couldn’t afford it, and they would want to vaccinate him. Alyssa also admitted to doing laundry and piling it near his bed and in it to keep him on his back. I explained how SIDS and suffocation happen, and how easily Oliver could have suffocated. I moved all the clothes out and folded them on the couch. Oliver was resting next to me, and I had put on calamine lotion on Miles, who was getting feverish. I decided to get him so juice to sip on, and then put him in an oatmeal bath to bring down the fever and itching. I went to the fridge, and the smell was incredibly strong of rotting meat. I almost gagged. I saw two bloody bags with something floating inside. I quickly grabbed a juice box and brought the kids into the bathroom. I set a nice bath for Miles, with his toys and oatmeal to soothe his itchy body. Oliver I had in a car seat on the floor with a blanket underneath and some toys. I did my best to make them comfortable and ease the itching.
Alyssa didn’t come home until dinner, and I had made chicken soup for Miles and had given a bottle to Oliver. Alyssa offered to make me dinner too, since I was staying late. I was hungry and agreed. She warmed up some stew on the stove, and I scrubbed the table down. We sat down to eat, and she had forgotten something to drink.
‘Hey Louisa, would you mind getting the milk from the glass jar in the fridge? I’m going to nurse Oliver,’ Alyssa said.
I got up and then coughed and gagged opening the fridge, Alyssa heard me cough.
‘Oh don’t mind the smell, it’s just the boys’ placentas. I eat them over time, it a waste of good nutrients if I don’t. But don’t worry, it’s not in the stew,’ Alyssa stated calmly.
I swallowed hard at my revulsion and brought the milk over. We resumed eating and drinking, then after I was done, Alyssa asked me, ‘Hey, did you like the milk? We get it down the street from the farmer who had the cows. He doesn’t do anything to it, so it’s completely fresh and nothing added. You’ll feel so good, and get all those ugly hormones out of your body, Louisa. You are cleansing your temple! God be praised!’ she said, clapping her hands together.
I was shocked and now so worried about my health. ‘It’s not pasteurized?’ I asked.
‘Oh no silly, it’ll cleanse you! Pasteurization isn’t necessary for god’s creatures.’ My eyes were huge, I needed to get out of there, and my flight kicked in. ‘Also the stew is from last night, we never finished it, and I had it ready on the stove to go! I don’t need the Tupperware my mother-in-law gave me.’ Alyssa proceeded to complain about her mother-in-law, who had sent them diapers, Tupperware, laundry detergent, soap, and baby wipes. The lady sounded sensible to me!
Miles started to cry and itch again. ‘Oh I put calamine on him, but he made need more. I’ll wash dishes and then I can put more on him.’ I said gathering dishes.
‘Oh no he just needs thieves oil, that’s how the plague doctors didn’t get sick with the plague during the Black Death.’ She grabbed a container of oil and started smearing it on Miles’s feet. I washed the dishes and started cleaning again, I could feel bile rising in my throat. It was so disgusting. I couldn’t get over how she served me spoiled food and contaminated milk.
I was relieved to go home, it was that I night I became dangerously sick. I had a fever of 103 and I couldn’t stop vomiting or having diarrhea. I took some anti-diarrhea meds and tried to walk to my car the next day to push through; I collapsed in the foyer of the sorority house. I was brought to urgent care by two of my sorority sisters and our housemother. The doctor asked me what I had eaten, and also if I had been exposed to any diseases. I told him all I had eaten and the state of the house I had been in while babysitting. I also mentioned that Miles had chickenpox and was never vaccinated. I immediately received boosters of most of the vaccines I had already had, including one for chickenpox, as I had never received the booster as a child (bad doctor at the clinic when I was three, and I had a mild case of it then later). I was diagnosed with Listeria and overall poisoning. The doctor said if I had waited to be seen any longer than I had, I would’ve died fairly quickly. I stayed at the hospital overnight with IV drip fluids, pain meds, anti vomit/diarrhea meds, and antibiotic drips. I was on antibiotics for two weeks, along with anti diarrhea meds, rehydration salts, and had to be in bed. I missed two weeks of class in total and had to play catch up.
I never wanted to babysit for them ever again. I ended up talking with the doctor, a social worker, an officer, and my priest about what happened there too. I had also taken a couple of pictures of the overall filthiness and the floors, as I had wanted cleaning advice as to best tackle it.
I submitted them to the officer and social worker. I never knew what happened to that family after I was in the hospital. I did tell them I couldn’t babysit, as I was too sick in the hospital. The only thing I received was a text of, ‘Oh…well feel better then. I’ll find someone else.’
I never heard anything after that text from Alyssa. I was asked a few more questions by the social worker and the officer a couple of months later, but that was it. I honestly hope the children are alright or in better care.”
It Was A Set-Up
“After babysitting training, I was contacted through the Red Cross to babysit a five-year-old child about six blocks from my house. When I got there, the woman told me she wanted her child to have exercise, and I should take the child to the park.
I asked for a key to her apartment, saying I would return it at the end of my shift.
She sputtered and balked asking, ‘Why would you need a key?’
I was confused. So I said, ‘You are leaving. I am here. Give me your key, and when you return, I will give you back the key.’
She hemmed and hawed and then said the child’s uncle would come over and pay me later. I suggested I put the key in the mailbox, once we got back from the park, and she would know where it was.
She got flustered and said, ‘I have to go. I don’t have time for this.’ It didn’t make sense to me.
The child was delightful. We had lunch then went to the park. We were there for a few hours. We spent the rest of our time in the apartment kitchen and living room. I used the bathroom a couple of times. As it got closer to the time I would leave, I asked the child about her uncle.
She said, ‘I have a new uncle every week.’ I thought she must be confused, because an uncle is your parent’s sibling. Turns out I was confused.
This ‘uncle’ was of no family relation and was actually probably a boyfriend. He barely acknowledged the child when he showed up, paid me, and immediately started drinking while watching TV, as I said goodbye.
Later that night, the police came to my house.
Apparently, the woman’s jewelry box was missing. She said I took it because I was there all day. I told the police I hadn’t seen a jewelry box in the bathroom. I thought about it, and shared the woman refused to give me a key to the apartment, yet demanded that I go to the park, leaving the door unlocked. I knew the apartment had been unlocked for at least three hours.
The police officer said the jewelry box was in the bedroom. I proudly said they could check the apartment for my fingerprints because I never went into the bedrooms.
I started to put two and two together. I told the police they should ask the child about her uncles.
I called the Red Cross to say that I had been accused of theft. The person who took the call said they were aware of the situation. I said I don’t want to be considered for babysitting people I don’t know. I had enough to work with the neighbors’ children. That was enough excitement for me!”
“The Kid Was The Devil”
“When I was about 16, I decided I would throw up some flyers around town. I basically told them I was trying to save up for a car and would do almost any odd job — cleaning, grounds work, babysitting, etc. One afternoon a man called and asked if I was the one who had put up the flyers in town. He went on to explain that he had just gotten a divorce and his wife had split town, leaving him with his young daughter. She was school-aged but he needed someone for the rest of the summer. I agreed. He said he didn’t have much money but offered me a hundred dollars a week to watch her Monday-Thursday from 7:00 am to 3:00 pm. Not great money considering, but I’m not a certified babysitter either and it was better than nothing.
This kid was the Devil.
My guess? After mom left, Dad didn’t know quite what to do and spoiled her rotten. I’m sure he did it out of guilt as well to keep her mind off her mom since she was only five years old. At first, everything went well. We spent our days outside playing or doing one of the many activities I bought for us to do. Then a switch flipped — she got used to me.
She started demanding things like snacks I didn’t have in the house, or to go places that weren’t really in the budget. I was only making a hundred bucks and I didn’t plan on spending half of that on a trip to the movies with her! Still, I tried to offer other fun things like scavenger hunts outside, or cool science experiments and crafts. It didn’t work. If she didn’t get what she wanted, all heck was going to be paid. She would spit on my floors, tear the cushions off the couch, pull the movies and books from the shelves, and one day she even cut her hair and told me she was going to tell daddy I did it to her.
Still … she was an adorable girl who had been dealt a rather bad hand. I knew it wasn’t all her fault she behaved this way. I tried to talk to Dad about it, but he would brush it off like I was just being dramatic. The day she cut her hair, he shrugged, and when I told him what she had threatened, he laughed! By the end of the five weeks we shared together, she was an angel. Seriously!
I gave her stability where there was confusion. I gave her structure where there was chaos and I showed her a safe way to express her feelings. Then one day her Dad said he had found a relative to watch her for free. I was sad, I missed her, but such is life. Fast-forward a year and he called me again and asked if I was still available to babysit. I was going to say yes and then I heard the distinct sound of a temper tantrum in the background. It only took a few seconds for me to realize she was right back to where she had been when I first started watching her, and since my sister had a newborn in the house now, I just couldn’t do it. Plus he had only offered fifty dollars for the entire week this time. I truly do hope that school gave her the structure she so badly needed, but as a sixteen/seventeen-year-old child myself, I just couldn’t.”