As a teacher's assistant to first graders, I thought I'd seen it all. The runny noses, peeing their pants and not knowing their left from their right. Kids, seriously...use your index finger and your thumb to make the "L" symbol. Which one LOOKS like an "L"?! THAT is your left hand. Now, place it on your forehead because you're now a loser because you had to do that. That said, and hearing my tone, please know that I LOVE kids. And have been the best babysitter, sister and aunt. But this summer I needed to find a job in order to pay rent, eat and breathe. So I am nannying two sisters. Rachel is 9, Aly (not with an "i" like in The Karate Kid) is almost 4. You'd THINK I'd be having a rough time with the little on, but it's the 9 year old who has tested my patience since June 14th. Now, I am a native New Yorker who usually has zero patience...for slow drivers, slow walkers, slow talkers...you get the picture. But I have always been very patient with kids. But when Rachel is in her room screaming about "not having any shirts to wear!", I look around her room at the 45 shirts she actually DOES have and I wonder philosophically..."Really?!" Now, I know at 9 things like this can seem like the end of the world, but c'mon sister. You've got a roof over your head, LOTS of fun t-shirts and plenty of food (including Cap 'N Crunch's Sprinkle Donut Crunch...get your hands on this and your life will change forever...you're welcome). So, I try to reason with her and help her pick out a shirt. She is NOT having it. She yells at me to get out. So I do. I play Candyland for the 90th time with Aly and decide if I don't give it another shot with Rachel, I will kill myself because I can't seem to get past Gingerbread Lane, or whatever the hell it's called. I head back in with riot gear (a Pop Tart) and try again. Nope. She's still in there, now topless, hiding under a blanket. Bitch, please. It's not like she's picking out a prom dress. God help her mother when she does. IF she does, cuz if this attitude continues, she'll be Red Boxing it that night. An hour later (yes, I thought time could heal all wounds) I head in yet again. This time having done a shot of Cuervo. Nah, I'm not THAT kinda babysitter. But I wanted to. Alas, she picked a navy tank top that was uncomfortable. It was 100% cotton, not 100% brillo pad. She was now dressed. And it was almost time for me to leave. Thank you Jesus!! The best part was getting a text from her mom who said
"Rach texted me that she's bored in her room" CODE RED, CODE RED, CODE RED! WTF?!?!? I immediately texted back what the situation was, leaving out the expletives above. Her mom knows she can be like this, so I was not in trouble, but ohhhhh, was I pissed. I went in to talk to her in my kindest voice asking her what was going on. She didn't say a word. She just glared. I threw my arms up and told myself I tried. This was the worst day. The worst. I left feeling angry, defeated and pissed off. I went to the gas station and as I walked out, I saw...YooHoo. Ahhh, it was 102 degrees and my blood pressure was sky high. I walked back up to the counter with said YooHoo like a kid who had just found the last Pokemon Go she needed. The cashier smiled back. And I said "I haven't had one of these in two years" and she smiled like "Ok, lady, just pay and go." I got in the car, opened the bottle and chugged. I chugged like a Freshman girl at her first fraternity party. I ignored the immediate brain freeze and reveled in the sweet, chocolately deliciousness that was running down my throat and coating my soul. So, even though I didn't "win" with Rachel, I won the day by ending it with a YooHoo. And now, you too can run out and treat yourself to a summer treat that can cure anything. At least until you can get your hands on some Fireball.
