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.

I’m a nanny for a small agency, and I love my job so much. Except when I don’t…

Yesterday I took care of a four-year-old girl, a two-year-old boy, and a five-month-old boy. 

I know kids at this age have enough energy to make the world stop spinning, and they tend not to listen… but d*** these kids were TERRIBLE. No control of themselves at all. There was paint on my dress, I was hit by glass cups, and plates were thrown at me, and my glasses were covered in jelly. The kids were purposefully coughing in my face, and I had some spit on me (I think they were sick too, ugh).

I lost my cool, and I had to issue timeouts and separate the kids when they fought. I cleaned the messes and took the toys and TV away from the kids. I record this so that the parents know what happened. When I told their mom:

Mom: “Do NOT parent MY kids. YOU’RE NOT THEIR MOM!”

I was taken aback, but if that’s what Mom wants, then alright.

The next day, Mom left to go to work, and I let the kids go ham in the house. There’s a mess everywhere, and I’m not even being bothered. Hit me with a glass? I hope it breaks.

The five-month-old is really the one I’m caring for, and I’m making sure he’s safe throughout all this. 

The mom came home and was APPALLED at the house. The cut on my hand (from me being stupid on Thanksgiving) was torn back open because of the kids, and it needs to be patched. My hair was covered in peanut butter. My leather shoes are in need of being cleaned and polished. And so, so, so much more.

I put the baby to sleep and walked out.

Mom: *Screaming.* “I’m gonna get you fired!”

I said nothing. She also followed me to my car, shouting:

Mom: “You’re gonna pay for the damage to my home!”

I blacklisted her. Never again am I going back to that house.

Later, I was on the phone with the agency and the mom. The family’s contract was voided, plus the mom will pay for my medical bill to patch up my hand, clean my clothes, and clean my glasses!

This story reminds me of a time when I was around eight, and my younger siblings were six and four, and my older sister was around eleven. We had a terrible babysitter. Among other things, she didn’t let US watch what we wanted on the TV; she only used our streaming services to watch her adult shows. Reminder: we were four, six, eight, and eleven at the time.

Because she spent time watching YouTube and talking about sex on the phone with her boyfriend, my older sister had to actually watch us. We all told our parents, but we young ones went along with anything our older sister said, and our parents knew she over-exaggerated a lot, so they dismissed it.

One day, this babysitter was finally fired when a fire almost started.

So, she had started to cook a meal, and her boyfriend called, so she went to our recliner, and started watching her favorite show, with him on video chat. Remember, the food was still on the oven.

Later, our older sister noticed smoke and tried to tell [Babysitter] about it, but she got mad whenever we disturbed her laziness. Eventually, the smoke was worse, and the fire alarms had started to go off.

The Babysitter FINALLY noticed, shut off the stove, put out the fire, and then guided us all outside. The neighbors saw, and called our parents and the fire department, which the Babysitter neglected to do.

When they got home, my parents were P***ED. [Babysitter] made up some BS story for my parents, which they didn’t believe; she said our older sister used the oven, but she was too afraid to cook anything without our parents.

[Babysitter] got fired, and my parents told everyone we knew what happened.

If you are reading this, neighbor, thank you.

The next babysitter we got was amazing and got to watch us all grow up. She took up the same job as my mom, so my mom is her mentor.

I used to do some babysitting and nannying work as a teenager for extra cash. Most of my regulars were lovely, but you get the occasional odd one.

I was a very popular babysitter in the area and would happily work with very short notice, so I regularly got calls from parents who had been given my number, needing a babysitter within a few hours. This meant that when I got a call from a parent of a classmate of one of my regular’s kids needing a babysitter that evening, it wasn’t that surprising and I happily accepted.

This referral came from one of my favourite regulars, so I had no initial concerns.

First red flag was that they had a huge Rhodesian Ridgeback dog, which was rather protective of his house, but I’m good with dogs, and we got on pretty well after a small introduction. Unexpected but fine. (Please warn people if a rather protective dog is wandering the property!)

It was about 5 PM at this point, so I went through the usual asking for rules, does their nine-year-old son need dinner, bedtime, etc. Essentially, the answer was, we’ll be back around 2 AM, there are zero rules, the kid will pick something from the cupboards, and to just let him have whatever he wants.

No bedtime, no rules on what shows he could watch

The nine-year-old wanted to watch South Park, which is why I checked this rule repeatedly, but apparently, it was all good for him to binge-watch that all evening.

Relatively uneventful evening, kid was surprisingly well behaved considering they had no boundaries… until the parents got home.

The parents get back around 2 AM, nine hours after they left. Then the wife went upstairs and came back with a baby.

I had not been informed that there was a baby upstairs the entire time I’d been there; they’d just shut it in its bedroom and not thought to tell me because it wouldn’t need to do anything, so… no big deal?

What the h***!

Even if they don’t need to do anything (what baby sleeps through nine hours without a peep, I’d genuinely heard nothing all night and I was on alert knowing the dog was around as I didn’t 100% trust it), if there was an emergency I wouldn’t have known to get the baby out of the house!

Turns out they didn’t want to tell me because they were concerned I’d charge extra for two kids. (I didn’t, it was flat rate up to three kids.)

I just took my money and left, told my mum who worked for the school their kids went to (there were other safeguarding issues it turns out, so this went on the reported list there).

Not long after, they left the country with no warning.

This isn’t even the only time a parent has surprise-dumped their baby on me. Apparently, I just look like I’ll be cool with it!