Every morning I stumble out of bed at roughly 5:00 am, allowing just enough time to go for a morning jog, get ready, feed the animals, watch the news, and grab the daily cup of coffee so essential to being awake (or as far away from zombie as is possible), perceptive, responsive, and prepared for whatever my job will throw at me. I mean that quite literally.
You see, I'm a teenage day-care service provider; I refuse to use the word "babysitter" because 1) I don't sit on babies, and 2) If my duties were limited to changing diapers and feeding a precious little newborn milk while rocking it to sleep, I wouldn't be nearly as excited to escape from kiddie Hell to my second job at Applebees.
The reality of the situation is that a 3 year-old girl plus a handful of kindergarten-aged boys are placed under my watchful eye Monday through Friday, 6:30 am to 4:30 pm and the latter drive me absolutely nuts. There's just something that must occur post-preschool to bring about the whiny, selfish, defiant, demanding, stubborn, "I think I know it all at five and if I don't get my way I'm going to tell my mommy and it'll be the end of you, lady" behavior. All cuteness or sweetness that was once theirs disappears, lost in what has now become a child overtaken with brattiness. They've turned to the dark side. Probably for the cookies.
As a "teenage day-care service provider" this is an especially difficult role for one to play. You must demand respect and authority, but the tools with which to enforce these things are at times extremely limited; at the end of the day, I'm still not the kid's parent (oh I can't even tell you how lucky they are). Consequently, each day this ridiculous battle must be waged as the punks bombard me with their infinite arsenal of terror - chasing after me with cheap cologne, setting "trip traps," placing bugs on my back, drenching my face with a "Super Soaker" watergun and laughing as a river of mascara runs down my face... the torment never ends. And yet, calling their mom is completely out of the question. Because to do that would be to admit defeat, which would only diminish the adult cred I've already established in dealing with the monsters all on my own. So I'll pick myself up and carry on with this character-building experience with a smile on my face, but inside I'm sticking my tongue out at you too you little asswipes!
p.s. Would it be too much to ask for Oprah to show the same appreciation for people like me that she does for stay-at-home moms? Supposedly they have the hardest job in the world.
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