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Don't tell mom the babysitter's dead?

For those not of a certain generation, today's blog title refers to the 1991 American comedy where a mom takes an extended vacation, the elderly babysitter dies, and the eldest sibling has to get a job to prevent the mother from coming home early. A classic for those of us who view Bill and Ted with the same love.

We're having this kind of anxiety over tonight's "practice run" of a babysitter coming to our home for the first time. Grandparents don't count. But, even then, we can count on one hand the number of times we've gotten a date night away from the little ones. And the only time Cole's really been looked after by a stranger was when my old coworker did emergency duty while Leda was being born.

Tonight is just a "practice" because the plan is to leave early enough that we're back from dinner before bedtime. We're just going to a bar down the street. But the plan is to have a longer evening away for the Mama's birthday in a couple weeks.

But this all assumes the babysitter is punctual. Or comes at all. She isn't really the checking in and confirming type. I called her last weekend in a very hurried "yes I can come" phone call that we haven't put a lot of faith in. Did she write the time down and remember? Will she come at all? She seemed responsible but we tend to assume the worst about people these days, right? It's one of those situations like the bus company for Cole going to school...either she arrives and everything will then be fine. Or she doesn't come and we know not to put our trust in her.

So, wish us luck. We're leaving our babies home alone. Of course, it also brings the promise of a conversation to be had without interference, perhaps an adult beverage, and possibly some good food. The bar we're going to is the frequent after-ride stop for the cycle club. Perhaps knowing the menu I will become a more regular attendee instead of heading straight home this summer.

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