Sherri Poppins

For the better part of a year now, I've been preoccupied with finding a fun part-time job. I know, I know, I'm "working" on getting a PhD, but the gratification is so nebulous, the reward so far away. I want something startlingly different from scholarly work, something with a clear objective: demonstrate a skill, punch out, go home. Oh, and the extra money for my wedding fund would be nice. The tough thing is that part-time student jobs always seem to include unpredictable schedules and working weekends and nights, two things I'm not willing to give up As much as I'd love to fulfill my lifelong dream of being a Starbucks barista, free coffee and $4.00/hour after taxes is not worth working the 5:00 a.m. shift on Saturday.

With these restrictions in mind, I discovered the perfect job: babysitting! Before I was a doctoral student, before I was a professional, even before I was a cook/busgirl/grocery store clerk, I was a babysitter. So, I found a job listing for a part-time nanny for two children. Now, nearly 25 years later, I'm a babysitter again. I'm happy to report that the pay has increased from the $2/hour I earned in 1984. This job fits my schedule (6:30--8:30 a.m. M-F) and includes helping two kids, aged 10 and 6, get up and off to school. I pack lunches, make breakfast to order, organize backpacks, oversee teeth brushing and weather-appropriate dress, and walk them safely to school before the 8:20 bell.

The family moved to town a year ago and as a result the kids have had to adjust to new schools, friends, and nannies. According to their parents, the previous nanny doted on them, providing a lot of love, but no discipline. As a result, one of the tasks for myself and the afternoon nanny is to help them become more mature, respectful, self-sufficient young people. This is a daunting task for 6:30 a.m.! I discovered on the first day that I was "stupid" for waking the six year old up at 7:20 instead of 7:30 and he "hated" me for making his bacon on the stovetop rather than in the microwave. The ten year old girl was happy to inform me at the breakfast table that the little boy still wore diapers to bed and that his stuffed dog was mentally retarded. What? Public shaming over bagels? Fortunately for the children, I had already consumed two cups of coffee and could respond in my zen-caffeinated state. As we walked up the stairs to finish getting ready, the boy commented that I had a "big fat butt" to which I responded, "That's not an appropriate comment." I wanted to say, "You are far too young and it is far too early to objectify women based on your preconceived notion of butt size. Now run along and brush your teeth!" This job may not be so "part-time" after all!