Image credit: Photo by Swiv on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

Just as we've found a method that works for us for finding childcare for our son Austen, who is autistic, we've (slowly) developed a method for training our sitters so that the visit goes as smoothly as possible both for our children and the sitter. Needless to say, that doesn't always work, but it didn't take many unpredictable, colicky, newborn days with my son to realize that all I can do as a parent is increase the odds of success, not guarantee them.

Step one begins before the babysitter walks through the door. I schedule new sitters' visits for a day on which Austen knows that Mark and I usually go out for a date or a meeting. Sitters are aware prior to arrival that Austen is autistic (I tend to pick sitters who already have some familiarity with autism) and they are also informed as to how he prefers to be addressed. (New people make him nervous, so it helps if I can get them to placate him right from the start.) Of course, Austen also has to be informed that a new sitter is coming, and -- much in the same way I handle the dreaded doctor's visits -- I prefer to tell him about ten minutes before the sitter's arrival. This gives him a little warning, but not enough time to work himself into a panic (or a frenzy of excitement). He is almost always thrilled to hear that a favorite sitter is coming and almost always despondent when I tell him someone new is scheduled to arrive, but I've reminded him so often that his old favorites were once new too, that he will sometimes repeat this mantra to me before I do.

When the sitter arrives, hm, I'd like to say that I'm well prepared and welcome them cheerfully into my orderly home, but I think I come off as flighty, at best, as my own overtaxed system is pulled in a thousand different directions by competing demands. That's why I have it all written down. So, I don't have to think on my very tired feet. Some people have emergency phone numbers posted in the house, I leave sitters with a reference manual and a house labeled with post-it notes. I may talk at the sitters in a scattered way until their eyes glaze over, but like an instructor doing a quick introductory overview of detailed course material to come, I leave them with documentation: a textbook, a course outline, notes.

Want to know everything from my kids' bedtime routines to how to work the television? It's written down and posted where babysitters can access it. Training is a walk through the house, with guide book in hand, as I point out the little snags that may come their way: "This is the kitchen. Beware the microwave! Although it is necessary for food preparation, it is also a source of OCD rituals, as detailed in the affixed post-it. Here is the bathroom. Be aware that children may enter this area fully clothed, but leave naked from the waist down. A verbal reminder is sometimes sufficient, but the visual cue of pants themselves may be necessary. Consult your manual for details. This is the kids' room. This light must not be turned off under penalty of death. Note the post-it. Also, do not lose the lovies. I'm showing them to you now. Memorize their plush faces, monitor their movements at all times and guard them as if they were another child, for there is no sleep without them. I've documented a harrowing tale of terror called 'The Babysitter Who Couldn't Find Gigi' for your edification." That's all slightly tongue in cheek of course, but only slightly. (She says, slightly tongue in cheek yet again. Or not.)

The most common comment I receive from new babysitters is "Wow, you're organized," which I always take as code for "You're a completely insane control freak." (Although when Austen melts down, Mama's careful prep work starts looking a whole lot less crazy.) Once sitters complete the initial tour, I leave them for a while to get acquainted with the kids while I putter around. After all parties have successfully survived the orientation and getting to know you phases -- if all is mutually satisfactory, and if my gut check checks out (I always trust it) -- we're ready to try leaving them, instruction book and emergency cell phone numbers in hand as we head out. Given the amount of time that goes into finding, training and getting everyone used to each other, I try to cling to the good sitters -- the ones who quickly get him without the guide book -- for dear life.

And of course, all of this reminds me: we have a new sitter coming, and given the meltdown that led to the last sitter's departure, I know my manual needs revising.