Babysitting is a blessing and a curse. Getting paid is an obvious benefit — after all, extra cash is the only form of extra weight I welcome. But the job is not always as easy as people make it out to be. Four hours of watching television — sure, sign me up. But when the kids are wildly creative soon-to-be scholars, they often play games that require more mental energy than some of my lectures.
Still, even with all the torture babysitting entails, the job has proven to have some unexpected perks.
I am lucky enough to care for three elementary school children who have somehow managed to never gang up on me with a can of whipped cream (yes, this has happened with other families.) The kids I babysit actually look forward to my visits, and that is such a simultaneously amazing and bizarre feeling. It’s an unexpected confidence boost to have someone look up to you and so openly express their gratitude for your time, even if he or she is seven years old. Handwritten notes in jumbled block letters saying, “Alli, I love you” do not come around every day, so this type of appreciation fleeting and precious.
Living in a college town like Charlottesville, where virtually everyone you interact with is between the ages of 18 and 22, you often forget small children even exist. Babysitting reminds me they do, and though I may only actively remember this twice a week, it is nonetheless a valuable reminder. Especially in anticipation of my impending doom — or as some call it, “graduation” — the kids I babysit have taught me one especially important lesson.
When I first was instructed to help with the children’s “concoctions,” I was perplexed. I kept suggesting we bake something with a recipe. Let’s follow the rules! But the children were equally perplexed by my rigid suggestion. Thus, the lesson is this: one does not always need to have a clear plan. Whether this is mixing random ingredients into a bowl or desperately trying to find a job, it seems there doesn’t always need to be a perfect recipe.
Though I’ve become more open to mixing melted peanut butter with powdered sugar and slathering it on Triscuits, I’m still working on loosening the other rules in my life. As a graduating fourth-year, there are certain steps I am “expected” to take, but this list of rules is surely not the only option. Because of my experience with babysitting, I’ve concluded improving the recipe may actually be the best advice.
Allison’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at a.lank@cavalierdaily.com.
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