Sitting on babies

Why do they call it babysitting? Firstly, when I babysit, I am never watching babies. I am watching elementary school aged children. And they are flippin’ hilarious. Last night I babysat at one of my favorite gigs. There are two parents–one is a producer on a talk radio show and the other is an English teacher at a private school here in Hotlanta. Their house is what I imagine rich people who pretend to be normal live in. They have two boys–second and fourth graders–and they make them go to the public school down the road.

They have an Ikea kitchen complete with un-slammable cabinets (they are on some sort of hydraulics system and catch right before they shut and slowly finish closing). They have Williams Sonoma kitchen towels and Restoration Hardware hand soap. Their house has a huge sketch of Ernest Hemingway by an artist who happens to be one of their friends (I think). The guy’s art fills the rest of their downstairs.

Their whole house looks like a sitcom family’s house. Perfectly organized and excellently decorated. It’s awesome.

Not only that, but their kids are fun and hilarious. They say the funniest things. For instance, they told me about their favorite frozen yogurt place, and the younger one looked at me wide-eyed and exclaimed, “They even have free water! Can you believe that? For free!”

They are great kids.

Last night we ran around the neighborhood acting like spies and “shooting” each other with Nerf guns. Then we watched Home Alone 2. (Side note: Macaulay Culkin’s character takes a picture from on top of one of the World Trade Center towers. It was surreal to watch, and I got slightly emotional for a millisecond).

After they went to bed at 10, I cleaned up the kitchen and sat on the couch to read. The parents didn’t get home until… 2:00 A.M. They went to the University of Georgia v. Boise game, and then went out for a drink after a disappointing loss.

While it was hard to stay awake till 2, it is still awesome to get paid to hang out with cool kids. Families like that make me feel like there’s hope for America. Or at least for small communities.

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