IT was a mystery. When we got in from our night out, there were two new pairs of yellow rubber kitchen gloves strewn across the floor. "Those boys have been up to something" I thought, but couldn't quite work out what.

This was our first full evening out leaving our eldest, William, in charge of his four younger brothers.

I remember, from the moment I announced I was pregnant with him, there was no shortage of experienced, world-weary parents, wearing the bags under their eyes like badges of honour, queueing up to break the bad news.

"Go out now, while you still can," they said. "Because soon your social life will be non-existent."

They were right, of course. But more than 14 years on, that first born boy who shattered our world and turned it upside down has, at last, reached the age where he can, officially, babysit.

It's payback time.

I have been counting down the days ever since he was a few months old and I first joined the dreaded local babysitting circle.

I have spent far too many tedious nights babysitting for others into the early hours in order to earn a few precious nights out for ourselves. It's no fun after midnight, alone in someone else's house, when the central heating goes off, there's nothing on telly and you're desperate to go home to bed.

But it's either that or book one of the few good, experienced and highly sought-after babysitters in the area, if you're lucky enough to pick a night they're available. Unfortunately, they don't drive, so have to be collected and taken home. And, not unreasonably, they charge a large fee.

We decided to break William in gently, organising a few trial runs over the past few months, leaving him in charge while we have gone out in the village, less than a mile away, for just one or two hours.

At first, we were understandably anxious. What if one of them had an asthma attack, the house burnt down or a mad axe-man called at the door? More likely, we worried, they might have a fight, and one of the boys throttle another.

Initially, we phoned home regularly and checked the mobile every ten minutes, in case we'd missed an incoming call.

Gradually we learned to relax. We found it helps to pay all the younger brothers a small fee to behave.

Since William is happy with a fiver, about a fifth of what we pay our regular babysitters, we are still quids in. (After all, what does he have to do apart from watch TV and go to bed in his own house?)

And what is the point of having so many children if you can't exploit them occasionally?

This arrangement has worked well so far, along with the threat to call on a 15-year-old boy they know from the village to babysit if they don't behave, which would be just sooooo embarrassing.

Our first big night out, with William in charge, was last Saturday. It was a friend's 40th birthday party and, since he and his wife had generously laid on taxis to take everyone home at 1.30am, we were both able to enjoy a few, or more, glasses of wine.

Arriving home a bit the worse for wear, we realised we had left our house keys at the party. With the boys asleep and the house locked up, we shouted up to their bedroom windows.

"Please, let us in." No answer. We tried throwing stones. No response. Finally, after banging a broom handle against the ten-year-old's window for ten minutes, he woke up. "Let us in," I pleaded. "No. Go away," he said.

By now, I couldn't stop giggling like an immature teenager. Eventually, our sensible ten-year-old let us in and scowled at us: "What have you been doing out until this time?" We apologised and crept meekly to bed.

It wasn't until the next morning I questioned them about the gloves. It turned out the three-year-old woke up complaining he had a dirty nappy and the older boys had a go at changing him.

Even with the rubber gloves, they couldn't stomach it, they told me. So they gathered what money they had, woke the seven-year-old and paid him £1.50 to wipe his brother's bottom. Bless.

They're obviously a lot more capable than I'd given them credit for. Even though I told them to ring me on my mobile in an emergency, they didn't want to bother us. I think I'll have to up their rates...

Published: 11/05/2006