I took a big step Saturday night. I proposed to our babysitter. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now, but I wanted to make sure that I was ready for this kind of committment. I finally realized that if I don’t snatch her up, somebody else will and I will be forced to live a life of regret.
She’s a great babysitter—the kind that’s mature and responsible, but still young enough to tolerate excessive Spongebob exposure. She’s well-behaved and comes from a good family, but blasts Black Eyed Peas on the kitchen stereo with Christian when we’re gone and lets him eat a lot of cookie dough ice cream. As a good babysitter should. After all, I believe the babysitting experience should be just as enjoyable for the children as the parents.
As I pulled into her driveway Saturday night, the moon was bright and the stars lit the sky. I handed her some cash, payment for a night’s worth of story-reading, frozen-pizza-cooking, and tucking-in, and cleared my throat.
“Tell me what you think of this,” I said to her.
“Okay,” she said.
“I want to hire you to babysit every single weekend,” I said. The words hung in the air. “Unless you’re sick of us.”
“No, I want to,” she said looking me in the eye, “that would be great.”
So, we made a deal. One night every weekend, she’s ours! She said yes!
Of course we’re going to be cool and flexible about it. She’s allowed to see other families. I don’t necessarily want to know their names or how cute their kids are, but I understand that she still has needs. And a cell phone bill.
I can’t tell you how relieved I felt as she walked up to her doorstep. (Although, for a split second I wondered if I should have bought her a pair of sunglasses or a tube of lipgloss to commemorate the event.) The search for a sitter can be excruciating. Knowing that I can count on her one night a week has already improved my blood pressure, I’m sure.
And if this goes well, I’m thinking of proposing to the “smoothie artist” at our local Jamba Juice too…
Who would you like to propose to?