Babysitting Blunders

Posted on by chrish

Question: How many of you out their were told to do baby sitting when you wanted to make some extra cash? Show of hands. That’s what I thought.

So there I was, a naive fifteen-year-old with grand dreams of spending more than just her allowance. When the opportunity for a babysitting gig popped up, I thought, “How hard can it be?” Oh, sweet summer child. Spoiler alert: It’s really hard. Scarely so!

But I tried. Imagine for a moment if you will, it’s a Saturday night, and I’m decked out in my best babysitter attire—sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt of my favorite boyband that has seen better days (to be fair they told me to come comfortably dressed, I took them at their word). The parents are thrilled to escape for a few hours of much-needed adult time they said (because who wouldn’t want to leave their precious darlings with someone like me? Please don’t answer that.). SO there we were, getting things straightened away. They hand over the keys and $40 in cash—holla! That was like winning the babysitting lottery! Though it was sorta strange that they paid me in advance, thinking about it in retrospect.

Let me set the scene for you. There’s me. A house. And kids that needed sitting. Standard ingredients. The kids were adorable at first glance (aren’t they always)… but then they started bouncing off the walls like hyperactive kangaroos after a sugar rush (the sugar rush was sort of my fault, that one could have been avoided). This family had two little ones (probably still do, just they’re not that little anymore): an energetic five-year-old boy we’ll call Tim who could definitely moonlight as an Olympic runner and his four-year-old sister who we will call Cher—let’s just say she had some serious opinions … not just a few … about everything from snack choices to which toys deserved her undying affection (now I know what you are thinking, diva, but it was more like mini-diva).

An hour in, chaos reigns supreme. But still, $40 bucks is $40 bucks, and it was one down three to go.

They’ll get tired soon.

What a lie.

By now Tim has climbed onto the kitchen counter (how?!), while his sister is sobbing inconsolably because I offered her apple slices instead of cookies (I know, right? Apples are nature’s candy!). By now, I’m gasping for air as I try to mediate negotiations over toy ownership rights while also figuring out how to keep them both alive until their parents return. I had a tamagotchi once, it did not live long and I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. Believe me.

To make matters worse, let’s talk about snacks. In my infinite wisdom (14 years feels like a long time), I decided popcorn (Oh, popcorn! I love popcorn!) was a great idea since it’s easy and harmless—wrong! It turned into a popcorn explosion that left kernels everywhere…and when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. At home I was known for my popcorn popping skills. There should’ve been warning labels on those bags: “Caution: Potentially hazardous when combined with overly excited children.” Because in all my 14 years I’d never had a mishap of this magnitude (that my mother couldn’t clean up)!

It was ten sorts of terror for the remainder of the time.

Fast forward to when the clock strikes 10 PM; instead of feeling like a hero saving the day, here comes the cavalry—the parents return home! And let me tell you what they found: me looking like I’d just survived an apocalypse with wild hair sticking up in every direction and massive bags under my eyes that could rival any luxury handbag brand which I can’t afford.

They walk in and immediately burst into laughter—a laugh that felt more like mockery than amusement if we’re being honest, which I am. Let’s be real; my future as a full-time babysitter disappeared faster than those cookies should have! They thanked me profusely (it felt kinda patronizing at that point and honestly they were probably just happy they weren’t the only ones to screw things up for a change), I left with honest earned money in my pocket—and there it was—the catalyst for my next big adventure.

A year later on the verge of my sixteenth birthday—I got crafty! Noticing [how calming candle-making can be]() after what felt like a war zone evening—it became my passion project filled with as you know trials and tribs. With scents wafting through the air rather than toddler tantrums echoing in my ears (thank goodness! I’d have probably taken up drinking.), I went from surviving chaos to creating catastrophes calm.

So now here we are. Instead of basing my early successes on babysitting nightmares, I got started pouring wax into jars and blending fragrant oils while reminiscing about how one chaotic night led me down this crazy entrepreneurial path I’ve been on for years. If you ever think about venturing into babysitting? Don’t. Or at the very least know this—bring some earplugs or better yet… stick to something where small children aren’t your co-workers—you’ll thank your past self later!

And if you’re willing to share your own hilarious anecdotes or tips on how NOT to babysit children or any other crazy side hustle teenagers end up trying… please do! Because honestly? Everyone could use a good laugh now and then—and let’s face it; nobody wants those hot popcorn kernels ending up in their baggy N’Sync shirt (ah … JC Chasez Chris Kirkpatrick)!

How Selling Lemonade Lit My Entrepreneurial Flame and Quenched Our Thirst

Posted on by chrish

Ah, the sweet taste of nostalgia! And Kool-Aid (which actually did the quenching)!

Oh, wait, it also reminds me of childhood cavities, which sorta sucks, since … well, cavities.

Wanna take a walk? Let’s take a cozy walk down memory lane to a sun-soaked summer day when I was about six or seven. There we were, my friend Jen and I were brimming with big dreams and even bigger ideas—specifically, the idea of selling lemonade. Why lemonade? Blame it on our childhood TV cravings. You know those classic shows from that painted a picture of small-town charm? Yeah, we thought we’d hop on that bandwagon too (actually we thought we’d stand behind a cardboard box and sell sugar, it works for the soft drink industry)!

With visions of dollar bills dancing in our heads (which is actually pretty funny if you actually think about it), we called upon our trusty sidekicks—our moms (these our life’s true heroes)—for help. And boy, did they deliver! We whipped up a batch of lemonade so tart it could probably grant wishes if you squeezed it hard enough (who even says this anymore?). But wait! We weren’t stopping there; we also made some Kool-Aid, because why not, its bright and fun and sweet? If one sugary beverage is good, two must be better, right?

Now here’s where things got interesting (for two six year olds). We fashioned our very own stand complete with a sign that screamed “LEMONADE” (though we spelled it “LEM-O-NADE,” because that was our brand) in bold letters—if only I had known then how “professional” signage might have helped us attract more customers (spoiler alert: it wouldn’t have). Still, the stage was set: the sun blazed down like it had its own agenda for the day (and truthfully, it probably did), and we felt ready to conquer the world (our our street).

Except… reality hit harder than we expected. After what felt like an eternity—or maybe just an hour—we had sold four cups of lemonade. Just four! Four stinking cups, though they din’t stink, at least I don’t think so. Was this some cosmic joke on Jen and Chrish? Where were all the thirsty passersby, or at least kids in the neighborhood with money to spend? Perhaps they were too captivated by their own childhoods to notice us waving brightly colored cups like flags at a parade.

And then came the moment came (success you ask, no)—the great wasp attack! Oh yes, nature decided to intrude on our entrepreneurial venture with an army of buzzing baddies that seemed bent on ruining our day. They weren’t killer wasps like today. Don’t worry; no one got stung. Thank goodness for small mercies! But let me tell you—this little incident sent us running for cover faster than you can say “lemonade stand” or actually “wasp, run!”

In the end, after much deliberation and possibly some tears (okay, maybe just mild disappointment which is also worth crying about), we called it quits for the day. We divided what little money we made—$1 each—and then promptly realized that after factoring in costs for supplies… well folks, let’s just say we owed our parents about $10 each. Sorry mom, I swear I’ll pay you back someday!

From such humble beginnings blossomed something much bigger within me—a spark ignited by laughter, purple sticky fingers from Kool-Aid spills, and lessons learned through trial and error (mostly error, but the real errors were yet to come). That tiny lemonade stand may not have been financially successful but oh boy, did it get my entrepreneurial flame burning bright, id just overlook it for another decade!

So here’s what I’ve learned since that fateful day (okay, I’ve learn more than this let’s be honest, that was a long time ago): every business journey starts somewhere (it’s true)—even if it’s armed only with some cups of lemonade and a swarm of angry wasps as your antagonists. Embrace those moments (and run from the wasps); they shape who you are today.

And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll find yourself sipping on something stronger than lemonade (like Bacardi) while reminiscing about your first business venture too—or at least laughing at how far you’ve come (Jen and I are still friends) from those days spent hustling on sunny sidewalks with nothing but dreams in your pockets (to be honest, none of my pants had pockets back then, and the ones I have now are so laughably small). Cheers to past failures that pave the way for future successes! <- If nobody really smart said that before me, I said it first.