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Entries in babysitter (2)


To Lie or Not to Lie

Some kids are complete and total liars. They will blatantly look you in the face and tell you the most obvious lie. 

Like most kids, my daughter has just a smidge of that in her…but only when she’s trying to get out of trouble. 

Me: “Macy – did you just eat a Nutty Buddy when it’s 9:30 in the morning?”

Her: “NO!!!”

Me: “You have chocolate on your face and hands. Wanna try that again?”

Her: “I DIDN’T DADDY!! You never believe me!!!” as she stomps off to her room with a Nuddy Buddy wrapper stuck to her shoe.

The boy, he can’t lie…at least not yet. He was born with what has to be the cleanest soul this planet has ever seen.

That sounds like a parent’s dream, but I walk a fine line with getting information out of him because I don’t want to turn him into a liar. 

It’s truly amazing. I could ask him about shit no one would ever know the truth about but him, and he’ll give it to me straight. It’s like he thinks I have some Jedi master all seeing eyeball up in the heavens watching his every move, so I know when he’s lying.

Me: “Grayson, did you flick a booger onto your sister’s bed while no one was around this morning?”

Him: Silence…nervousness.

Me: “Grayson?!”

Him: “Yes daddy, but she flicked a booger at me yesterday!!” 

But the best thing in the world is that he’ll even give me the truth about anything pertaining to me. No longer are the days I put on a pink dress shirt and ask the wife, “hey – does this look good on me?” Only to hear her say, “yeah, you look great, I think you look good in anything.”

No more do I deal with, “hey hun, you think I need to lose 10lbs?” Only to hear, “you could need to lose 50lbs and I’d still think you look terrific.”

Now, I have the Grayson.

I simply set him down, stand before him, brace myself for the fact that some of this truth is gonna sting like a bitch and start asking questions.

Me: “Does this pink shirt look good on me?”

Him: “It looks horrible dad. You should never put it on again.”

Me: “Do you think I need to lose 10lbs?”

Him: “No.”

Me: “25lbs?”

Him: “Yes”

Me: “Does mommy ever turn and look at my butt when I walk by her in the den?”

Him: “No”

Beautiful, huh?

But, I have to keep my guard up around that little bastard because I have no doubt the wife’s using him in the same way. He’s like a larger version of the teddy bear babysitter cam I have implanted in the wife’s dressing area. I have to make sure everything I say and do around him is wife-appropriate, which can be exhausting.

And that is the main reason I’m probably just going to teach him to lie.

Me: “Now, when mommy asks you if I started drinking at 11 this morning you tell her no and I’ll give you $25, OK?”

Him: “OK dad.”



No, You Call the Babysitter

So the wifey’s college roommate visited this past weekend. And we decided to get a babysitter so we could enjoy some kid-free time. A mere four days from the impending visit I realized, holy shit, we don’t have a sitter and I’m going to end up being left in the lurch as these two ladies hit the town leaving me behind.

Kicking into baby-sitter ninja action I decided to take matters into my own hands and have a conversation with the wifey:

Me: “Hey…so we should definitely get a sitter for Saturday night.”

Wifey: “Go for it slugger.”

Me: “But you got the Mecca of babysitter lists months ago. Can’t you just call one or two and make it happen?”

Wifey: “I lost it.”

Me: “You what? Are you serious woman? You lost that shit? That’s like someone giving me the unlock code for constant, unlimited free porn and then losing it…it just doesn’t happen!!!”

Wifey: “Call me ‘woman’ one more time. Seriously…say it…call me ‘woman’!”

Me: “Look, your college roommate’s gonna be here in …shit, what day is it?”

Wifey: “You really need a job! Seriously…you need to get out of the house, look at the sun, enjoy the day…you’re losing your mind in the basement!”

Me: “All right…let’s focus. We need a sitter. Who are we gonna call?”

Wifey: “ ‘We?’ No, you…you are gonna make that happen while I’m at work.”

Me: “Awe come on…that’s fucked. Guys don’t call to ask for babysitters. Seriously…there are rules against that shit.”

Wifey: “Rules…really? And who the hell came up with these rules? You’re just as capable as me to call and ask for a sitter.”

Me: “I know but seriously…what if her dad answers? I’ll be all, ‘hey man…is Tiffany there?’ And he’ll be all, ‘Who the hell is this? You sound like you’re 40 years old. Who the hell is this?’”

Wifey: “How in the hell can he tell if you’re 40 by the sound of your voice?”

Me: “Are you kidding…cause I’m all experienced in life and shit. Listen to me. I totally sound like I’m 40 and involved in 40-year-old life stuff…seriously listen…the stocks rose eight percent today as the Dow didn’t quite respond as well as investors had hoped and…”

Wifey: “Whoa!!! Wait…you’re calling our potential babysitter with stock options? Seriously you dork…seriously!!?”

Me: “I’m just saying that I know stuff! And I know that if I call the sitter her dad, her boyfriend, or her brother will answer the phone and they’ll be pissed and I’ll probably get killed when all I wanted to do was freakin’ drink beers with you and the college roommate away from the kids.”

Wifey: “Wow. You seriously need help. Look, bottom line is, I’m going out with Stacy whether you get a babysitter or you ARE the babysitter. So, ball’s in your court Mr. Man. Make it happen or don’t.”

Me: “You’re gonna regret it when I get killed and you have to raise these kids by yourself.”

Wifey: “It’ll be rough but I’m pretty sure we’ll pull through.”

Me: “Shit! Fine…I’ll call. Hand me the phone WOMAN.”