We’ve secured a babysitter for Saturday and are looking forward to a night out. But babysitting sure isn’t the same as when I was a teenager.

I babysat a lot back then. With Seventeen magazine rolled under my arm, I would run out of my house to a beeping car at 7:00 almost every Friday and Saturday night until I went off to college. Babysitting provided funds for more magazines, cheese fries at the mall, and a film at the 12 plex. It also provided access to TV, which was banned at our house; the better parents also had HBO, which meant R-rated movies after the kids went to sleep.

Yes, those were the simple days. Now every kid I know has a TV in their room and a generous allowance. They don’t need the tube or the paltry $5 an hour. I feel like our teenage babysitters are doing me a favor or racking up experience points. My kids have to entertain her (“Hey, watch Ian pretend to skateboard!”) and be perfect.

We also have to compete with the many activities of these girls. Our Saturday night friend is the manager of a basketball team and a member of a teen club. This thirteen year old has a better night life than we do.

I long for the days of the simple cash exchange of services. When parents could pay off a bored, poor 13 year old girl to mind two sleeping tots without strings or tricks.