Skip to main content

Babysitter Malfunction

This is my favorite excuse I use when I'm at home sneaking in an interview -- and the rabbit comes barging into my "office" (Bedroom) screaming that she's hungry, or needs to go "pee-pee" or whatever else a 3-year-old's needs might be at that particular nanosecond.

Usually when I have to do a work call while I'm home sans babysitter I tell the rabbit in advance. I explain in my calm, slow, please-understand-me-this-time voice that "mommy needs to go make a work phone call and I'll just be a 10 minutes ("No! Five!") okay five, and when I get out we can go down to the park for 20 minutes ("No! Five!") Well, actually sweetie, five is less than 20 but that's fine, but I need you to let mommy make her call. Okay?" ("No.") "Okay honey. So let's put on a few minutes of "Max and Ruby" and I'll be right out."

And if I am very lucky I can actually eek out a 20-minute interview and feel wildly thrilled with myself. Often within two minutes the rabbit has decided I have ignored her enough and that's that. Although, I have to admit she has grown more willing to let me have some work time -- okay, 20 minutes maybe a day. But still, being able to have some flexability is golden.

Strangely, I find that men are much more understanding of my explaining that today I am home because of a "babysitter malfunction." While women often meet my excuse with cold silence. Like today. With a source I desperately needed. With the rabbit wailing like I had thrown out her stuffed dog.

Happy Monday!

Comments

Bec said…
I kind of despise myself for teaching my younger two the "whisper game" - ie, when mummy is on the phone working from home, we play whispers.

Frequently malfunctions.

Still despise myself.

Yes, I also find the women less understanding than the men.
Manhattan Mama said…
I know what you mean -- can't say I love having to leave the rabbit in the livingroom to do a work call -- but sometimes what else are we to do? And what is it about women and men? Got to look that up in my secret mama handbook.....

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...