When I was a few months old, I briefly stopped breathing while taking a nap. At the time, I was being watched by an aunt who caught it in time to start infant CPR, and once I recovered, she watched me like a hawk until my parents came to pick me up.

She told them everything, and naturally, my parents were pretty freaked out. So they took me to the pediatrician, wondering if I potentially had some sort of lung disease or condition that had been missed earlier.

At the doctor’s, my parents told the pediatrician exactly what had happened: I’d been asleep, my aunt had noticed my lips were blue, and she’d administered infant CPR until I’d woken up and started breathing again. I’d shown no other symptoms since.

Doctor: “Oh, yes, they do that sometimes.”

Parents: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY DO THAT SOMETIMES?!”

Yeah, babies can be bent on self-destruction even before they reach the crawling phase. I am now a healthy adult with no breathing difficulties!

My husband and I left our kids with our regular babysitter so we could have a date. When we came back, we asked how the kids had been.

Babysitter: “[Son] is so good with [Daughter] that I figured I’d teach him how to babysit her. He’s really good at it. Want to see?”

Me: “Sure, [Son], let’s see.”

[Babysitter] laid our daughter down on the couch, then our son came over and literally sat on top of her. He was careful not to apply his full weight, though, and [Daughter] giggled along as he wiggled around on top of her.

Babysitter: “See, he’s a natural babysitter! I taught him how to change her, too. Here [Son], can you change her?”

[Babysitter] handed toy cat ears to [son], who placed them on our daughter. He then tries to cover her with her blanket before pulling it off again like a magic trick.

Son: “She a cat!”

Babysitter: “You forgot poof! You can’t change someone into an animal without saying poof, it’s a rule!”

Son: “Oof. A cat!”

Babysitter: “There you go, perfect! He insists he’s already fed her a bottle, so now all we need to do is teach him how to put her down for a nap, and I’ll be out of a job.”

Yeah, our babysitter is a bit odd at times, but [Son] loves her and refuses to let anyone else babysit him, so I guess we’re stuck with the insanity.

I’m driving to pick up my toddler from my sister’s house. She’s been babysitting him all afternoon while I have been running errands. I call her while I’m driving back.

Me: “Hey, [Sister], just to let you know, I’m all done, so I’m driving back to yours now. Should be there in about half an hour.”

Sister: “Oh! Oh… wow… that’s earlier than I was expecting.”

Me: “Yeah, the errands didn’t take as long as I thought.”

Sister: “Uhm… okay…”

Me: “Why do you sound weird?”

Sister: “Okay, don’t be mad.”

Me: “…what happened?”

Sister: “Well, the good news is I got to him before he finished the second half of the Red Bull…”

When I got there, my almost-three-year-old was doing laps in the yard between drinking water to dilute the caffeine. He was fine, but my sister decided to keep the energy drinks separate from the soda cans from now on…

I was young, maybe fifteen years old or so, and would pick up the odd babysitting gig for extra money.

I took a night for a household that was on my paper route. They asked me to be there on a Saturday for 8:30 PM, and I arrived a few minutes early. The parents were still getting ready, and they asked me to watch the kids while they prepared to head out. They left the house at about 9:15 PM.

Before they headed out, the wife gave me some very specific instructions. I could have a snack… two Oreos on the counter. Nothing else. She said she poured a glass of milk for me and left it in the fridge… it was right next to the plastic milk jug, with a piece of tape on it showing the level. She told me she’d check it when she got back, and if I took any extra milk, I would have to answer for it.

The kids were okay, went to bed without any fuss, and the parents returned home at 12:20 AM. The mom paid me for three hours, about ten minutes after they arrived.

Me: “Excuse me, but this isn’t right. I got here before 8:30, and it’s now almost 12:30, that’s four hours, not three.”

Mom: “We didn’t leave until 9:15, and we got home at 12:15. I’m only paying you for three hours.”

Me: “But I was watching the kids from 8:30…”

Mom: “That doesn’t matter, we were home, and you weren’t in charge, we were.”

I took the money and rode my bike home.

A couple of weeks later, they did pretty much the same thing. 

Two things are important: first, the wife was a neat freak. I’m guessing now she had OCD. Everything was lined up perfectly. One of the kids spilled his drink, and I was looking for some paper towels. The cleaning supplies under the sink were perfectly lined up. Same with the pantry… every jar and can was in a row with the label facing directly to the front. 

Second, this was in the mid-1970s, and all canned food had paper labels.

So, the third time they called me in to babysit, they were late leaving AGAIN, and I knew that I was going to get shortchanged for the time I was there. I was steaming.

So I went into the pantry and tore the labels off each and every can. All of them. She had a shelf for Campbell’s soups, another for canned veggies, another for canned fruits…and I scrambled the unlabeled cans.

When they got home, sure enough, she tried to short me.

Me: “You know what? Keep your money. I don’t want it, and I am never babysitting for you again. And as of today, I’m stopping delivering your newspapers as well. So, if you want to read the paper, you’re going to have to go buy it at a corner store.”

I stormed out.

I wish I could have seen the expression on her face when she opened the pantry door…and saw shelf after shelf of bare metal cans.

The mention of two weeks ‘ notice and how the boss reacted in this story reminds me of when I gave notice for the job I had before my current one.

I had been working as a nanny for a family with four children aged seven to twelve, the older two of whom lived in the house half the time and spent the other half with their mom’s family (divorce and remarriage). I was to show up just after the parents left for work at six in the morning, get the children up and ready for school, and drop them off at the different schools they attended.

There was tension from the start, as the mother introduced me to the younger two boys as “Replacement Grandma.” Setting aside that I was about thirty at the time, she meant replacement for the grandmother who used to help with childcare duties and had died the month before.

I only saw the parents twice: during the initial interview and then during my “training”/orientation (here’s where breakfast foods are, etc). After that, everything was communicated by email. The younger two kids didn’t like that I treated their stepsiblings like human beings and took that out on me.

It was pretty clear after a couple of months that this wasn’t working out. The younger siblings didn’t like me because I would step in to stop them from bullying their stepsiblings, the parents would email me, not-quite-accusing me of stealing baking supplies (“maybe you took the flour home…”), the expectations were inconsistent, and so on. My husband pointed out that we didn’t need the money to the point of putting up with all this, so I emailed my two-week notice.

The mom’s attitude did a sudden 180, proclaiming that, sure, it may have been a little rough starting out, but things were fine! It was all working out so well! Surely, I wouldn’t want to leave! Because now she was faced with the reality of not having The Help around and having to explain to her job why she couldn’t keep her schedule.

I replied with a firm no, stating that from my prior experience as a nanny, I was simply not a good match for their family. Two weeks, which gave them the school’s winter break to look for someone else, and that was all I could commit to.

She replied with a sullen email calling out various perceived injustices, including that it was unprofessional not to give any notice before quitting. It was reminiscent of a man, having been turned down by a woman, negging her to try to change her mind.

Nope, two weeks. That is your notice. I included that her attitude, coupled with the way the family acted around me, made this an easy decision.

She then sent a missive disparaging everything she could think of and how she felt sorry for my husband having to live with me, and how she hated me, her husband hated me, her kids hated me, her pets hated me; it was honestly hilarious. I forwarded the email to my friends and a couple of families I’d previously nannied for; it was so absurd.

We all got a good laugh out of it, and shortly after, I landed the job I’ve been in for the past eight years now. If I have crossed paths with any of the family, I haven’t noticed; I’m not great with faces in the first place, and the only time they occupy my thoughts is when a story pops up that reminds me of them, and I laugh about it all over again.