The Babysitter

I should really be cleaning the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher, loading the food waste bin with our left over scraps from the Sunday Roast whilst other half is upstairs bathing the children, but I'm skiving. He knows I'm not doing my tidying as there is no clattering and banging going on, so I'd best be quick.

Last night we left our children with a babysitter for the first time. Sad, I know, considering they are 3 and 5. But usually we have only left them with family. We'd been asked out for a friends birthday meal, fed up of turning these invites down for fear of never being asked again, we agreed. I booked our next door neighbours 15-year-old daughter to babysit, dusted off an old French Connection dress, covered up the bags under the eyes, gave the eyebrows a quick trim and cleaned the house from top to bottom in preparation.

I made sure I gave the girls a stern talking to of do's and don'ts:
* you must not talk about bottoms,
* or wind,
* or burp loudly and laugh
* or ask her if her boobs have grown yet (my 5 year old daughter asked me this just before she arrived),
* or talk about daddies winky,
* or cry,
* or be naughty.

You must
* go to bed at 8pm
* do as you are told,
* be good.

I bought the baby sitter fondant fancies, crisps, squash, fruit, dips and left our number under the 'best' china 'A is for Apple' mug.

I resisted calling all night and she didn't call us. We got home ten minutes later than we said due to husband heading towards Oxford instead of London on the M40 on the way home. All because he was making a point about how big a litre of fluid was (our nights out are HILARIOUS, as you can tell). Infuriating.

We arrived home, paid her £25 (she charges £5 an hour) and asked how everything had been.
'Fine,' she replied. And off she went home with a cheery bye bye.

This morning the kids insisted they'd been OK. They had cried for mummy, and tried to go to sleep in our bed, but babysitter had shooed them out, and that was it.
Good - O. Result. Let's book her in for our next night out!

Husband then bumped into next door neighbours mum and she said,
'Well, my daughter certainly had to work hard for her money last night.'
Him being male, he smiled and didn't ask anything further. Then told me about it several hours later.
Infuriating x2.

Now, I am in a small state of panic.
Were the girls awful?
Did she go home and tell her mum how dreadful they are?
Were they naughty?
Spoilt? (both of which can sometimes be true).
They will think I am a terrible mother doing an awful job. They will be judging me. I am practically having to sit on my hands to stop me going round, knocking on their door and saying,
'What did you mean she had to earn her money? Are my kids dreadful? Worse than those at number 22?'
Who 15-year-old also babysits for, and obviously doesn't have to 'earn her money.' Of course, I find my children annoying, but I don't want anyone else to. It even bugs me if the husband complains about them or shouts at them.

Anyway, the kids are bathed, there's still mashed potato caked to the big pan, I'd best go give the horrendous kids a kiss goodnight.

Looks like I shan't be going out for some time...