Need a sitter? Save time! Call:

Do you guys remember that book series The Babysitter's Club by Ann M. Martin? I'm talking the old-school, straight up Babysitter's Club, not "Babysitter's Little Sister" or "Babysitters Go to College" or "Babysitters Run Out of Tuition Money and Have to Resort to Stripping" or any of the other spin-off series. No, the ones I read and loved centered on the friendly quartet of Kristy, Mary Ann, Claudia, and Stacy and their adventures and misadventures while being shockingly and easily available to babysit all of lower Connecticut. For pennies.

Ah, yes. Now we come to it-- the proverbial search for acceptable and affordable childcare, particularly on the weekends when everyone you know is out and you think that if you sit on that couch one more time and fold one more stitch of laundry and wonder why, again, Mark McGrath is now hosting Extra!, you're going to spontaneously combust and conflagrate half of suburban Columbus. Or, you know, wherever you reside.

Mr. Milkweed and I live nine hours from family. If we get out at all, it is during one of those all-too-infrequent visits by either his parents or mine. And for the first few months of Eva's life, that was enough. I was exhausted, constantly breastfeeding, and hormonal, and Mr. Milkweed was the same, minus the whole "self-as-dairy-bar" aspect. In March, a friend did come over and sit on the couch while Eva slept for the night, and he and I escaped to see a movie... the stars, plot, and even title of which completely escape me but which I'm sure was a cinematic tour-de-force. But except for that one time, the dents in the couch grow deeper and deeper as we slowly grow wrinkly, old, and unsexy, hair whitening and growing from our ears in that quick cloud-rolling, fast-forward animation style favored by people in that new-fangled moving picture industry. Pass the prunes?

The time for that is past, my friends. Here are the facts: It's been seven months since Mr. Milkweed and I had any sort of out-of-the-house social life, just between the two of us or with friends. Eva is a champion sleeper, and we need to take advantage of that fact and park someone else's butt on the couch for a change. We may not live near family, and we may not be able to pay much, but there must be someone, somewhere who is qualified enough to sit in our living room and listen to the static on the baby monitor.

And guess what? THERE IS! There are, in fact, several avenues for childcare that have suddenly and miraculously opened up since I started rampaging through the town, flecking strangers' faces with bits of foam in my eagerness to invite them over. If you find yourself in the same situation, what follows is my three-part formula for personal satisfaction and marital happiness:

1. Trade babysitting with friends who also have kids!
This was the first wonderful avenue to open up for us. I joined a local Mom's club with the hopes of making connections like this, and while things are moving swimmingly in that direction, it's always better to try and make the swap with someone who's already a trusted friend. Ser, who has moved back to town after several years in Chicago, has been wonderfully open with her willingness to swap childcare. And after learning that it has been nearly a year since she and her husband were actually able to get out for an evening together, I volunteered to watch her two lovely boys last weekend. We read Star Wars books, they practiced their ninja moves for me, and we watched Finding Nemo while Ser and "Mr. Ser" had drinks and took in the new Indiana Jones flick. And here's the beautiful, sweet-juicy-strawberry aspect of this for Mr. Milkweed and I...she's going to come over to sit while he and I get out to Comfest! I needn't add that another wonderful benefit of this sort of arrangement is that it's completely and utterly FREE, so we can actually afford to go out on a date. Score!

2. Pay an adult with tons of experience
This coming weekend is a bit of a triple whammy: Saturday is our five-year wedding anniversary, Sunday is Father's Day, and Mr. Milkweed is working 9-6 both days at Kaplan. Determined to do something special, I bit the bullet and arranged for a sitter who is, for all intents and purposes, a professional...and charges as much. For the jaw-dropping, eye-watering, gut-clenching sum of $10 an hour, a very nice lady who comes highly recommended will:

Choose one:

a. Embroider our socks with solid-gold thread
b. Dance like a satyr for our amusement
c. Sit on our couch while Eva sleeps

You guessed it, you wily, wily reader, you. We've been informed that we're getting a bargain, as her fee is $12 per hour if the child is awake. I'm glad we're getting out this weekend, but I may have to sell off extraneous internal organs before I arrange for this again. Still...it's an option.

3. Find a teen who works on the cheap!
In the middle of a bout of indigestion brought on by obsessing about the above situation, I coyly sidled up to one of my favorite teens at the library where I work to ascertain her babysitting fees. "Oh, I don't know, around $5 and hour? I once babysat for this doctor who paid $8," she said. Teen, you are my new favorite person. I carry your number around with me like the winning combo for Megaball, folding and unfolding it and imagining the possibilities.

So there you have it-- a triplicate of ways to leave the house and rejoin society. It's not exactly the Babysitter's Club, but then, they were all eighth graders, anyway...and that was pre-Internet. I'd like to see today's Kristy Thomas pry herself off of IM long enough to even have her "great idea."