Babay Sitting Hell

It was the day before Halloween and my friend Taylor had asked me to help out at a Halloween-birthday party for kids that she occasionally baby-sat. The birthday kids were 8 year old triplets: a birthday boy and two birthday girls.
As we drove up to the house I remember almost hitting a kid dressed as Batman who decided that it would be a good idea jump in front of the car. The driveway was littered with fairy princesses and grim reapers holding sparkling wands and scythes respectively. One bloody hockey player was trying to luge down the hill on a skateboard, oblivious to the suddenly heavy traffic on the private drive trying to drop off their little goblins. The dogs ran around, overwhelmed by the face paint and plastic costumes, contributing to the chaos outside. Taylor and I looked at each other . . . well here went nothing.
We walked up the gravel pathway to the front door, trying not trip over any witches on the way. Mrs. Hillman answered the door dressed in a blue velvet cape and hat with gold stars and moons on them with a glass on red wine in one hand.
“Oh thank you so much for coming!” she smiled at us as she thrust a pad of paper and a pen into my hand. “The kids are just about to open their presents so could you write it down?”
Agreeing Taylor and I made our way to their family room where all three birthday kids were buried under piles of gifts, ripping off wrapping paper.
“Wow cool!” Jack said as he put down the newly opened remote control car and proceeded to open another present. I tried to ask Jack who the car was from so that I could write it down but Jack merely shrugged his shoulders before unwrapping the next gift. Kate and Ruthie were also opening their gifts on pace to set a new world record of who could open the most gifts the fastest. Taylor and I were helpless against the power that their gifts wielded over Jack, Kate and Ruthie and, combined, probably wrote about 5 things down.
Forging our way through the wrapping paper living room, Taylor and I headed downstairs where Mrs. Hillman gave us a boom box and 30 kids to entertain before she climbed back upstairs with a smile on her face. Taylor’s face on the other hand bore a slight resemblance to Eeyore as the kids ran around the basement. Trying our best to hide the fact that we were dead terrified of having to entertain the kids under the influence of high fructose corn syrup and caffeine we tried to organize “Freeze Dance.” But before we could stop the music once a little girl dressed as a mermaid tugged on my pants. She was crying and in between sobs she asked me where her mother was. Her blue eyes were so watery and so full of panic so I left Taylor to work the music while I tried to console the little girl.
Little mermaid girl was three years old and her mother had left her at the party of 8 year olds on a “Halloween high”. Whenever a kid puts on a costume they can transform into that character. Well that’s all ok until the kid decides to inherit the personality of the character. If a kid dresses up like batman all of a sudden the rules don’t pertain to him because clearly superman doesn’t have to listen to anyone. He just flies around in his bat mobile speeding through the city looking for crime. A room full of out of control superheroes would put anyone on edge but it flat out terrified little mermaid girl. After a good ten minutes little mermaid girl understood that her mother would be back after the party and she went to the bathroom to find a tissue. Covered in snot and little kid goop I went back to help Taylor with the dancing.
“We’re bored. Aren’t there any other games?” whined a little cowboy. Taylor looked at me. Do you have any ideas? Her eyes pleaded.
“Does a scavenger hunt sound like fun?” I asked the three-foot tall crowd. As that idea was met with some approval Taylor and I thought of things for them to search for. Because the only thing we had for child entertainment purposes was the boom box we couldn’t really hide anything.
“Okay, so why don’t you get in groups and go outside. Don’t come back until you find 7 pinecones and . . . ummmm . . . three pieces of trash” Taylor suggested. Maybe this would preoccupy the kids for a while.
We were wrong.
The kids ran back less than a minute later with pinecones and trash that could fill the Superdome. I just sighed and started laughing. You know that something is bad when you just start laughing. Like when you are handed a physics test and the first question reads: Constance is running towards Sam at 1.61 m/s and Sam is running away from Constance at 1.59 m/s and the friction created by Sam’s shoes and the grass is .41 µ and the friction created by Constance’s shoes and the grass is .35 µ and after 10.18 seconds Constance yells at Sam who hears the sound how many seconds later if the temperature is 24.32 degrees Celsius? First you sort of want to cry, and then you want to laugh because honestly who cares about Sam or Constance. Well awesome . . . high five! That is sort-of how it feels to be trapped in birthday party hell.
After a couple of hours the parents finally emerged from upstairs with pizza, punch and of course ice cream and cake. The rest of the party is sort-of hazy. The kids ate until their stomachs were ready to pop like over-filled balloons. As Taylor and I dragged ourselves out the door Mrs. Hillman slipped us each a five and with a wink said “Thank you so much!”
So who really cares how you do on this one physics test. Putting things into perspective I guess that entertaining kids at a birthday party doesn’t really matter in the long run. I’m sure the kids won’t really remember how lame the girls were who ran that one party or, for that matter, they spent two hours they looked for pinecones. I guess there could be a worse way to spend a day as an eight year old, so if they’re not worried about it than should I?
But seriously, five dollars?