Beware the Babysitter!

Beware of babysitters! Yep, babysitters can be a nightmare. My first sitter was a friend’s mom and she was wonderful, but she couldn’t continue on being my sitter – she was just temporary until I could find one full time. We were living in Illinois at that time and day care centers were not as prevalent back in the 80s as they are today. People that babysat did not need to be licensed or be inspected. After months of inquiry I finally came across someone to watch my boys while I worked. She was a short, dark-haired woman in her late 20s, we’ll call her Randi. Randi was an LPN who worked part time. I met her at work as our schedules at the hospital overlapped. She seemed hard working and pleasant and I had found out from a friend that she watched children during the day time. My husband worked days and I worked evenings and we only needed someone to watch the 2 boys for a few hours in between.

She offered to watch them and I set up a time to meet with her at her home and bring the boys so they could all get acquainted. Matt was just a little fellow – only 18-20 months old. He had been different of late – crying for no apparent reason, acting afraid, turning his gaze away – and I had no idea these strange behaviors were the onset of his autism. Christopher was not quite 4 years old.

I took the boys over to Randi’s house on my day off. It was a wonderfully warm day and her yard was in bloom. The house was neat and there were several other children playing in the living room when we arrived. She invited me in and we went to the kitchen and sat at the table. I looked around. The kitchen was small but clean. She had her table at an angle on one wall and her refrigerator at an angle in the opposite corner – hmm, that’s different. We talked for a while. She told me how her husband worked nights and slept during the earlier part of the day and how she did babysitting so she could spend more time at home with her own young son who was Christopher’s age. It seemed like a good match and I hired her.

It was hard to leave the boys each time I dropped them off, watching them cry, hearing their sad voices as I drove away, but I assumed this was normal. My friends assured me it was. There were more than a few times I wanted to just turn the car around and go back and get them, call in to work, or better yet –quit so I could stay at home and be with them. Alas, that was not an option. We were a 2-paycheck family living week to week and a drop in income would have drastic consequences. So, I left them, crying and pleading.

I should have listened to my own inner voice. I should have told my friends that their pleas were not normal, that their tears were more than just from missing me. But I was young, a new mother, and I believed most people to be good . . .

One evening it all came crashing down. Ignoring my instincts would prove to be a haunting memory. Matt was crying again. I couldn’t seem to console him no matter what I did. I held him close, patting his back as I paced the kitchen floor. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he cries so much” I said aloud to no one really, just talking to myself. Christopher just happened to be running through the kitchen and stopped. He watched me pace and could see the worried look on my face. “Maybe you should put him behind the refrigerator” Christopher offered. I giggled, “Now why in the world would I want to do that?” I asked. “Because Randi does it.” He replied. I stopped cold. The air seemed to just vanish from my lungs, I couldn’t breath. Barely able to form a sound, I looked at Christopher and straining I uttered “what?” “Oh Randi does it all the time. When Matt cries she just picks him up and puts him in the corner behind the refrigerator. Randi said if I get noisy then I have to go back there too.” The shock began to wear off and the anger began to rise. This woman, this evil, lying, insane woman was sticking my baby behind a refrigerator because he cries. Oh my dear Lord!

I was hot. I wanted to know if this were true. I wanted her head on a platter! I called Randi. “Do you know what Christopher just told me? He said you put Matt behind the refrigerator!” “Oh that”, she replied, as if it were nothing at all. “My husband was trying to sleep and your kid was screaming his head off. I put him back there to muffle his cries”. Oh my dear Lord, it was true, it was really true. She didn’t even see anything wrong with it!

Needless to say I didn’t take the kids back there. I wanted to turn her in to child services, get her committed to a mental institution, or at least put her in jail, but my husband (not Tom) convinced me to just drop it because all I had was the words a not quite 4 year old boy. Although I never called the police I did manage to tell everyone I knew what had happened – maybe I could stop her by word of mouth. I’m not really sure what all happened but Randi and her husband and their refrigerator moved away a few months later. Personally, I will never forgive myself for not calling the police. I am haunted by the possibility that another child was forced to undergo “muffling” of their cries. Not only was I young and stupid, I was spineless.

I didn’t seek another sitter for years. I cut back on my hours instead. Of course, we then entered the world of financial hardship and I started watching other children for some extra money. It wore me out because I played, we sang songs and I drew pictures for hours each day, but I gained peace of mind. The next time I had to have a sitter I was in Arizona, recently divorced and needed daycare so I could work full time. By then there were daycare centers everywhere and they were licensed and inspected. Unfortunately, by then Matt was full blown autistic and most centers did not have any experience dealing with this type of child.

The daycare center seemed to be run well and there were lots of children there - so many children that they needed to be separated by age groups. Christopher was in a different group than Matt. The young ladies did a fine job with the normal kids but they were in over their heads with Matt. He cried, he fought, he fell to the floor. It almost killed me. I dreaded each morning and counted the hours to when I could retrieve them. Every day was a rip-your-heart-out day. Matt’s behaviors concerned the staff and I suggested they allow Christopher to be in contact with Matt throughout the day. Did they listen? Of course not. I dealt with the tears and the pain each morning for 6 months.

When we moved to Virginia, to the blue ridge mountains, I had to find another job and that meant back to looking for another licensed daycare center. I found one and we went through the same tear-your-heart-out mornings. The difference here was that the young ladies couldn’t get Matt to come out of the lockers. He would go in a locker first thing and sit there in the dark all day, fearful of his surroundings and strangers. Christopher was doing well except for his concern for Matt. He could hear Matt cry. He could hear Matt in pain. It had to be terrible for him. As with the last daycare center, the children were divided by age groups and Matt and Christopher were forced apart. I just couldn’t seem to get people to understand that Christopher could help. Matt would go to him. Matt would stay close to him and maybe even eat. Instead of trying something of this nature they decided it would be best if I didn’t bring Matt anymore.

So, back to finding another sitter. This next one was an older woman. Every day I quizzed Christopher about what he and Matt had done at her house, trying to stay on top of any problems that might arise. Unfortunately, this woman was fascinated about Matt’s autism more than she cared about taking care of him. To her, Matt was a curiosity, an object, not a little boy. She thought she should teach me how to interact with my son – not a good idea. Please don’t tell me how to raise my children. Every parent’s thorn – a person who just knows so much more than you on the correct way to do things, please! She didn’t last long.

The last sitter, Diane, was the absolute best. She met the bus each day after school, fed them both actual food items they would eat, made them do their homework, played with them outside on the swings, let them play video games, and she was always smiling. Her house was close to their school. Her daughter was sweet and attentive to both boys, her husband, terry, even lent a hand when she was busy. They had pets, laughed a lot and fell in love with both boys. Christopher and Matt kept Diane as their sitter for years and years. The only thing I want to know was where was this woman hiding all those years of anguished cries and tears? Diane was a blessing, truly a blessing.

I had not been able to trust anyone with my children since Randi and the refrigerator. In getting to know Diane I found that it was possible to trust again. It renewed my faith in people and gave me great peace of mind knowing my children, my entire life, was in the hands of someone who truly cared. Both boys blossomed into happy, well adjusted young men and Diane had a hand in that. Matt got to know her well enough so that I could go to work. I would wave to him - he would wave back - and then hurriedly run to the TV to play a video. No more tears or anguished cries. Life evened out. Some of those mountains I had been hiking uphill on my hunt for childcare just melted into mere bumps on the trail - and it felt good, real good.