Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Remarkably, the babysitter is not returning my text

After the shenanigans of Friday night, it did not come as a huge surprise that the babysitter was not anxious to babysit for us again. I mean, after all...... the last time she saw me I was on the floor of my kitchen and my husband was hustling her out the door, assuring her that I was "just a little tired."

But I have a special mixology class to attend (NO DRINKING THE STUDY MATERIALS THANKYOUVERYMUCH), and Sam has to work, and I am afraid that my kids are going to be stuck sitting on the floor playing videogames for an hour while I learn how to make the perfect martini. And as I sit here, clutching my phone, praying for a text in return saying that OF COURSE she can watch my lovely children, well.......I'm getting panicky.

I blame this all on Playcare.

Playcare was a kick-ass place in our mall where you could drop off your kids, pay an hourly fee, and leave them to have their faces covered in (pre-authorized) paint, their energy burned in the bouncy castle, their minds numbed by the movies, and their tummys filled with the yummy food court treats I left in their cubbies. It was a win-win situation. They could have fun, and I could go to the gynecologist by myself.

Last week, I had a doctor's appointment, and it happened to be spring break. So I loaded the kids in the car and left home an hour early, driving directly to the mall. They were beside themselves with glee.
"I am going to have a UNICORN painted on my face!" Lucy exclaimed.
"I'm going to have a scar put on mine!" Max crowed.
"WE WANT FRENCH FRIES!" they hollered from the backseat.

No problem. Got to the mall and headed straight for Playcare. The kids were running at top speed, weaving between the old guys sitting in folding chairs waiting their turn to sing karaoke, and the tables from the farmer's market. They rounded the corner, screeched to a stop and reached for the door - and froze.

Because it was Verizon Wireless.

Playcare was now yet another cellular communications outpost.

Playcare had gone out of business. Or relocated. Or.......who cares. They were gone. Right when I needed them most, when I had finally come to rely on them from time to time, when I had let myself trust again.....they were't there for me.

The kids were crushed. I WAS DEVASTATED.

"Now what are we going to do?" They were whining. We bought french fries and walked through the mall to the car - despondent. We drove to the doctor's office and trudged through the parking lot. They flopped down in chairs in the waiting room and looked at me woefully. I handed Max my cellphone. "Sorry dude. Don't ride in the elevator. I'll be out in a minute."

And now I am afraid I might have to do it again - drag them along on a long planned commitment, because I can't get a last minute babysitter.

Now, granted, sitting around watching grownups make cocktails (side note: why does that word make me laugh like Beavis and Butthead?) WHY???) is a lot more fun than watching your mom get a pelvic exam. But Playcare has left me in the lurch, rejected and dejected. I don't have the same fun I don't let them watch cartoons, and when i try to paint their faces they look like members of the Insane Clown Posse.

Which reminds me - I have to go buy more facepaints.

And thank god, the baby sitter just texted me and said she can watch them. Which is good - because I don't really want Max making martinis yet.

Wait....maybe I do.

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