Pragmatic Chaos

Moving

2006-11-25T17:12:00.000-08:00

So, I finally got sick of blogger and have moved over to a wordpress account. Check it out HERE.Please update your links! Thanks.

More SheNANNYgans on ER

2006-11-10T22:46:00.000-08:00

I don't know what it is with ER and nannies, but there was yet another episode involving nanny issues last night. Apparently, Abby's conversation with the nasty nympho nannies in the park didn't scare her enough to swear them off for good and in Thursday's ep she and her delicious baby daddy interviewed several prospective nannies. But of course they're all freaks. Poor Abby just can't catch a break. The only semi-competent woman there is a model gorgeous Brazilian babe. She may have to consider going the Nip/Tuck route and hiring a male midget if she's worried about Luka sleeping with them like Sean slept with his prospective baby nurse. Then again, that's probably not a good idea either seeing as Julia is having an affair with her miniature manny. You know what? Come to think of it, medical shows and nannies just don't mix. And I should probably stop referring to fictional characters by their first names, as though they're real.

Eating Eccentricities

2006-11-10T14:21:00.000-08:00

They say that second siblings are often times the complete opposite of the firstborns. This is true to a certain extent with Buddha and Bunny. Where it is really apparent is in their eating habits. Buddha will eat (or try to eat) anything. I mean, literally anything. Dirt, grass, paper, plastic, metal, dustbunnies, hair, you name it. This is the kid who tried to eat my sock while it was still on my foot. Bunny, on the other hand is a picky eater. But because he's Bunny and anything but normal, he's not picky in your typical five year old fashion. I was munching on a bagel, that I had brought from home, one morning and after eyeing it with some curiosity, he asked if he could have a bite. Sure, I said and started to hand him a piece.
"Is it organic?" He asked me, very seriously. Erm, no.
"Never mind then." He muttered and continued on. This is not an altogether unusual occurrence. Mrs. Winifred is very specific about what she buys. I don't think there is a single food item in the entire house that is not organic. This is not an exaggeration. She is very particular about what the children eat and when. Both Bunny and Buddha have daily allotments of veggies that they must eat. Bunny has inherited his mother's zest for quality and health. I was munching on some corn chips one afternoon when I saw Bunny shaking his head at me.
"I don't think those are very healthy for you. Maybe you should put them away." He instructed me with total seriousness. I put my corn chips away.
One afternoon, I had picked up some veggie subs from subway and had a small bag of sun chips as well. Mrs. Winifred had given her okay on the chips but after making me read the ingredients on the bag and subsequently finding out that there was a lot of sugar in said chips, Bunny politely refused to eat them.
Another day we were at Starbucks where he was having his treat: a bottle of their organic fruit juice and some organic dried fruit and nuts, when he saw two other little boys around his age sipping some chocolate-y looking drink.
"That's an adult beverage!" He announced. (Yes, this kid uses the word beverage.)
"Why are they allowed to drink that? It's not healthy."
I agreed with him on the health issue but noted that some parents have different rules about treats and maybe they were celebrating a special occasion or something. He nodded and understood but glared daggers at the father of the two children.
Last week Bunny came home with a marshmallow sculpture. And he ate it!
I asked him if he knew that marshmallows are not vegetarian. He nodded.
"Mom told me that already." He muttered off-handedly and continued chewing.
"And it doesn't bother you that there is dead animal in that?" I asked, still in complete and total shock.
"Nope. It tastes good." He responded very matter-of-fact as though I were the most stupid person in the world for not understanding that.

*sigh*

Everytime I think I have him figured out he goes and throws me for a loop. I don't know whether to be proud of him for making up his own mind or scared that he's being corrupted by his more mainstream pre-school peers. Either way, he definitely keeps me on my toes.

Filed Under 'Evil and Shameful Thoughts'

2006-11-06T09:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wish Winifred would disappear altogether so I could raise her children properly without her constant interference.

Am I Their Mother's Keeper?

2006-11-04T16:25:00.000-08:00

One of the hazards of being a nanny is finding out (unintentionally of course) about family secrets and dirty laundry. Most of the time I keep this info to myself but I've recently stumbled upon something that could be something or could be nothing and I don't know what do about it. Part of Mrs. Winifred's (formerly Mrs. Pinochet) extensive neuroses stem, I'm sure, from her incredibly critical family. I've only had the displeasure of meeting her sister on a few occasions but from what I've garnered from Dr. Doormat and from bits and pieces of conversations is that her family is very intense and harsh. That being said, I should add that in addition to her being a very attractive woman in her early forties (you didn't hear that from me) she is/was a social worker. Anytime I so much as show up with a frown on my face she makes sure everything is alright at home. On the one hand, I'm touched that she bothers to notice and ask, but on the other hand, it makes it very difficult, tedious and altogether worthless and uncomfortable conversations. I have a shrink, thank you very much, I don't need to work for one as well. In any event, she likes to be involved and likes to think that she knows what's going on in my life. (Oh if only she knew.) So when I got back from NY and saw how skinny she was, I chalked it up to the ulcer that she was just diagnosed with. Except that the more I think about it, the more I see some serious signs of some body image issues. Mrs. Winifred is anything but fat. Even when she was nine months pregnant, I probably weighed more than her. And she had a flat belly within weeks of giving birth. But as I was folding laundry the other day, it dawned on me that she's gone from a size 6/8 to a 2/4 in the past six months or so. Her arms, though always toned are incredibly gaunt looking and the bones in her chest are visible underneath her skin. Her jeans look like they're about to fall off of her. Even her lycra yoga pants are loose and baggy. As I was thinking about this, I started mentally slapping myself. I'm probably just jealous that she's lost some weight when I've gained some. (Thank you risperdal, thank you! As if the lactation wasn't bad enough.) I'm probably just projecting right? Except that she spent three hours at the gym this morning and later today when she was reading a fashion magazine she went on a tirade against 'skinny jeans' and how nobody except Nicole Richie and the Olsen twins can possibly look good in them. I just nodded and agreed but honestly? She's probably one of the few people who would look good in them. She's tiny! Itty bitty. The only thing that's remotely large on her are her breasts. But she's nursing! And even then, I have her beat with my 36 Ds. And then another thing clicked. They're going to visit her family in Philadelphia for Thanksgiving. Her incredibly critical and overly harsh family. And I remembered that the last two times they were going to visit she upped her gym hours as well. So I'm really torn. Is it the result of her ulcer and the subsequently restricted diet or is there more to this weightloss? Could she be on the verge (or in the midst) of an eating disorder? Because either way, she really seems to have no idea about how thin she's gotten. And there's no way I can count on Dr. Doormat to take notice. He's a brilliant doctor but he seems to turn it off when he gets home. This is the same man who didn't realize his four year old had pink eye until I suspected it and brought it up. So I don't know what to do. Should I mind my own business and just focus on the kids? They, not her, are my job, afterall. Or should I approach her with my concerns and risk offending her and/or making an ass of myself? Is bringing it up worth the potential fall-out if I'm wrong? Or hell, even if I'm right? I just don't know.

I Should be a Marital Counselor

2006-11-02T15:47:00.000-08:00

I spend the bulk of my time with Buddha since Bunny is in school five times a week now. We spend a lot that time conversing. Most of our conversations are pretty profound, too.
We talk about fashion.
"Buddha, do you like my new shirt?"
"Blaahh deeee bleee."
"Excellent. I thought you'd like it. Do you think you could maybe not drool on it today then?"
"Laaa boooodleee."
"Awesome."

We talk about politics.
"No, you're not allowed in here buddha. Hence the baby-proof gate."
"Bleeeee blaaaaa!"
"How did you knock that down?"
"Gladegleuuu."
"Wow, you're innovative. "
"Bleesshh."
"Just goes to show, fences aren't going to keep people out where they want to be."

We talk about authority.
"Sorry buddha, you can't have apples today. You can have carrots though."
"Ahhhh!"
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I don't make the rules, your mom does."
"Waaaah!"
"Well, because she's the decider and she decides what's best."

We talk about nutrition.
"Buddha, how many times have I told you that dirt and grime are not food."
"Spleeeegggleee."
"Come here, spit it out."
"Ahhh!"
"See? This is why you have the world's stinkiest turds."

We talk about philosophy.
"If you poop, and nobody's there to smell it, does it still stink?"
"Plllauuuugh."

We talk about PDA.
"Aww, are you gonna give me some kisses buddha?"
*slurp* *slobber*
"Ouch!"
"Heeee."
"That was a bite not a kiss. No biting. Save it for your first girlfriend."

We talk about the birds and the bees.
"Yes, that is your penis ... but could you please not grab at your scrotum when it's covered in poo?"
"Heee."
"No, seriously. It's gross."
"Blaa deee blaaa!"
"Okay, I'm not kidding. Keep your hands off your penis while I'm cleaning the poo off. Play with it when I'm done."

We talk about manners.
"You know it's not polite to spit milk in people's faces."
"Spplleeet. Phhhattttt."
"Nor is it polite to smear green beans in people's hair."
"Blauuuch."
"You're a real charmer you know?"

We talk about common sense.
"If you stop quirming, I'll be done quicker, you know."
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
"Chill out, I'm just putting on a new outfit."
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
"You know, maybe if you didn't smear smashed food all over yourself, I wouldn't have to change you after every meal. Think about it."

We even practice our debate skills.
"Okay, how about you and I make a deal?"
"Bleeedlaa."
"It's time for your nap. If you sleep for three hours, I'll sneak you some cheerios later."
"Glaaadee."
"Okay fine. Two and and a half hours and I'll throw in an apple slice."

It's what I tell all my friends. Relationships are based on communication. I'm sure it's why Buddha and I are so tight.

How Do You Measure a Year?

2006-10-25T22:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Buddha's birthday. We spent the day together, just the two of us, hanging out, goofing around, and napping. It was great. He was oblivious to the monumental occasion that it was. He didn't even care about the presents he opened last Saturday and was much more interested in chewing on the wrapping paper than anything else. But that's just fine with me. I quite enjoyed his birthday. The past 625,000 minutes, give or take, have been amazing. Watching him develop from a scrawny newborn, to a chubby infant to a babbling baby now to an almost toddler has been so incredible. I can't even describe it. Our relationship has changed quite a bit over the last year as well. In the beginning, I was his primary caregiver. Except for the breastfeeding, I did it all. From, literally, the day he was born, I was his human pillow. His favorite place to sleep was on my chest, his head nestled comfortably between my breasts, his little heinie up in the air. I was called in on emergency on multiple occasions because he refused to sleep elsewhere for anybody else. I woke up many a morning to the wonderful aroma of spit up in my hair. I gave him his first bath, treated his first diaper rash, fed him his first food and watched his first tooth come in. I was there when he got his first cold, and his second, and his third. I was there when he discovered his penis and his feet, and his ears, in that order. I was there when he learned to lift his head up. When he first smiled. Whe he rolled over and when he sat up. I rocked him and paced until I thought my arms would fall off. I listened to him scream until I really thought I might smash my head into a wall. I grew so accustomed to the ubiquitous smell of vomit and poop around me that my friends were wary to be down-wind from me. For the first five months of his life, he was my baby. I fed him, bathed him, held him, loved him like he was my own. Like I was his mother. For reasons beyond which I was able to understand at the time, his mother, was unable to fully bond with him. Practically refused, in fact, to hold him volunatirly unless she was nursing him. And so he was mine. As unhealthy as it might have been, he was mine. The first time they all went on a trip without me, I suffered from Buddha withdrawls. But slowly, as time progressed, as he got older, became more interactive, as we spent more time apart, and he spent more time with his own mother, I began to get some perspective. Our relationship evolved. I was still his favorite place to sleep but no longer the only place to sleep. He learned how to sit up, how to reach for his own toys, how to laugh at himself. Together we laughed, took walks, went to the park, played with toys and I watched him grow into a real person, full of personality and spirit. Into an independent little boy who didn't need me as much anymore. And so, when I had four weeks off, I got it into my head that I could live without the little tyke. So I took the job in NY. Little did I know the effect of the monopoly he has on my heart. We didn't skip a beat. We've fallen right back into our old rhythm. Only now he's a year old. Twelve months. And the past twelve months (two of which I missed out on) haven't been easy. On me or his parents, but I can honestly say that I wouldn't trade a single one of those minutes for anything else. Because watching him blossom and grow into the affectionate, friendly, happy, independent little person he is, has been so worth it. Nevermind the crappy pay and the intense hours. I have grown so much in the past twelve months, all thanks to that little boy. He has taught me so much about joy and compassion and unconditional love. About sacrifice and responsibility. About living for others instead of only myself. He's made me a better person. And when he crawls to me, clings to my legs and cries to be picked up just to give me a sloppy wet kiss on my face and then be put down again ... it puts it all in perspective. And even though I miss the tiny little infant stage, or even the pudgy baby stage, I can't even begin to describe the amazing place he's at right now. That is what this is all about. Because one slobbery smile from him is all I need to make my day. Happy Birthday Buddha!

L-O-V-E

2006-10-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

I've been back for three days and I'm already scheduled until November. I really don't know what they did while I was I gone.
I got home late Monday night and then slept in and bummed around all Tuesday. Wednesday afternoon, I was eating my delicious veggie sub when I got an unexpected call from Dr. Doormat. He was desperate. Mrs. Winifred, formerly Mrs. Pinochet had left Buddha napping and he had woken up moments after she left the driveway. Meanwhile he was on a deadline and the baby wouldn't go back to sleep so could I come over? Hell yes! I grabbed my bag, my lunch and my keys and I was out the door. I don't think the six minute drive over there has ever felt so long. Buddha stared at me for a few moments as I walked in the door, sort of looking me over. As I walked to the counter to put my stuff away, I saw him following me with his eyes. And when I smiled at him, he gave me a little grin and buried his face in his daddy's shoulder, playing shy. He grinned wider as I approached him and my heart just about melted. I was so worried he wouldn't remember me. Afterall, I have been gone for a little over a month. When I reached out my arms to him, he clung to his daddy and when I took him he started to cry. I cradled him and immediately started singing his special song that I've been singing to him since the day he was born - Everything Possible by Fred Small. It was like magic. He stopped crying! He looked up at me with his big blue eyes and I could see the recongnition on his face. He remembered! He settled down, snuggled against my breast, clutched at my shirt and drifted off to sleep as I walked around singing. I couldn't bear to put him down so I laid down on the couch, and he slept peacefully on my chest for over an hour, just like we used to when he was a newborn. It feels so good to be home.
And what a homecoming it was! When Bunny got home from school he strode over to me with a huge grin on his face and an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hand. Apparently, he had insisted to Winifred that they buy me flowers at the store while they were out. I was so touched! He gave me such a huge hug and immediately took me to his room and introduced me to all the new toys that he had gotten for his birthday last month. Dr. Doormat and Mrs. Winifred invited me to stay for dinner and it was wonderful. If that ordeal taught me anything, it was appreciation for this family and for our relationship. I know we have our moments and our disagreements but there is mutual respect and appreciation between us all and I'm so grateful to have them back and to be back.

Nanny Defamation

2006-10-12T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm an ER addict. Never mind that the show has been around since I learned to read. It's an oldie but a goodie and every Thursday night, without fail, I loyally sit and watch in amazement as my fantasty doctor lover (Goran Visnjic) and his fellow doctors slice people up and manage to look insanely sexy though covered in guts and blood. Tonight was no different, despite the fact that my mother and I are in the middle of Pennsylvania on our way back to the west coast. Now, recently, my favorite character, Abby (portrayed by the lovely and talented Maura Tierney) gave birth to a baby boy. Because it's ER and all, the birth was predictably, very dramatic but they didn't kill the tyke off like they did Carter's baby so woo hoo for that! My insane and occasionally unhealthy love for newborns went into overdrive and for the past three weeks I've been looking forward to seeing cute little baby Joe on my screen. (Especially since it's been nearly a year since Buddha was that age and baby fever has hit me hard this year.) So color me a little suprised when Abby mentioned to her hunkalicious slice of Croatian meat, aka Luka the baby daddy, that she's interested in hiring a nanny. I instantly raised my hand and demanded to turn in my resume. After all, I was recently fired by the bitch from hell, aka, Baroness Bomburst, so I'm pretty much free to nanny any fictional, newborn children of my favorite television characters. Anyway, later in the ep after a rather disastrous mommy and me class Abby met up with a group of nannies at the park! Hooray! Yay for nannies! I felt very much like the ER writers were sending me a personal shout-out. Except not. Right from the get-go one of the girls shared her fear that she might be pregnant with her boss's child to which another nanny informed her that "the only father who doesn't want to bang his nanny is already doing it" or something along those lines. Uh oh. When asked if she's a nanny, Abby replied yes and was then privvy to lots of juicy nanny gossip, involving how the girls use their bosses' homes and cars and clothes etc etc and overall how they pretty much abuse their positions as caretakers. I was floored, and though I know the scene was supposed to be humorous, I felt a little offended. I have never stolen anything from my families. I have never used their clothes or cars or homes without their permission and I have never slept with any of the fathers or tried to. (Nevermind my intense crush for Big Bad Lawyer Daddy.) Not suprisingly, at the end of her day when her insanely sumptuous Croatian Sensation offered to rethink the nanny prospects, Abby declined, insistent that they could do it just the two of them. Oy. Glad she's confident in her parenting skills and all but this nanny hate has got to go. I think there are more mature, responsible, loving nannies out there than the other sort and I'm a bit disillusioned that the portrayal of us on the show (my favorite show!) was so negative. I know that nannying has gotten quite a bit of press lately but have there been any good recent representations in the media of the dynamic between a nanny and a family? I'm curious, because I'd definitely like to see some.

Political Awesomness

2006-10-08T13:28:00.000-07:00

I know this isn't a political blog but it's my blog and I just wanted to give a shout-out to the amazing students at Columbia. How fantastic are they? I can only hope that my moonbeams will someday grow up to be just as brave and passionate about human life and social justice.

Getting It Off My Chest

2006-10-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

No, I didn't just post a random picture of my breast in a shameless attempt to boost my readership. There's a reason. You may notice the white colored drops of fluid that seem to be emanating from the nipple area. If you guessed that it's breastmilk you would be correct. Scooby snacks for you! Only problem is that I'm not pregnant and I have not recently given birth. Color me freaked out. I first noticed when I was on my trip out of the country. I got out of the shower and was drying myself off and then re-dried by breast, and the re-re-dried my breast and yet there it still was: colostrum. I gave my breast a little squeeze just to be sure and wouldn't you know it but more milk came oozing out. Now, I've seen plenty of people breastfeed and I've seen my fair share of breasts but what I had never seen before was a breast spontaneously behaving like Old Faithful and spitting out breast milk for no reason. I wrapped my towel around me, ran to into the room that I was sharing with my cousin and demanded that she have a look. Because, apparently, I have some slutty tendencies, she immediately countered with a suspicious "Are you pregnant?" After repeated declarations from me that I was not, in fact, in the family way, she joined me in my state of disgust and bewilderment. So what would any savvy American girl do when she finds herself stuck in a third world country and suddenly lactating? I googled of course. Let me just say that googling one's symptoms is not the best way to overcome hyphochondria. Turns out what I had was galactorrhea. Yeah. As in, diarrhea of the breast. Yech. Now, what are possible causes of galactorrhea? Oh just, you know, brain tumors or pituitary disorders, or thyroid issues etc. Minor stuff like that. At that point I was wishing that I had, in fact, conceived the second coming of Christ because none of those other options were sounding at all appealing to me. And then I read it.
Medicines: such as hormones, antidepressants, blood pressure medicines and others.
Aha!
The asshole, known as Mr. Shrink had recently prescribed me .5mg of risperdal daily. Now this is a very small does for the sole purpose of easing some of my anxiety issues. He warned about the possible side effects like increased appetite and fatigue and I was like, oh hooray, just what I need, to become lazier and fatter, but because, despite his asshole-y-ness, he normally knows what he's talking about, I agreed to try out the new meds. Well, guess what one of the lesser common side effects of risperdal is? Ding, ding ding! Galactorrhea. Turns out it's so rare that there are reallly very few case studies online about it. So when I went in for my med check and we went over how much better I was doing on this new drug, Mr. Shrink was all smug and self-confident over his decision and choice of drug I nodded and agreed and ever so sweetly exclaimed. "Except that I'm lactating." The look Mr. Shrink's face is one that I truly wish I had been able to photograph. It almost made my lactation worthwhile just to see the conflict race across his face. Bless the asshole's heart, he remained wholey professional about it all, but the redness in his cheeks gave him away. Turns out my body is incredibly sensitive to this stuff because .5 mgs is next to nothing. According to him, there are people on four times as much of this stuff who aren't lactating. Fan-freaking-tastic for them. What about me? Turns out there is diddly squat I can do about it unless I want to go off the drugs. He asked me how "severe" it was and if it leaked through my clothing and if it was painful. Yes and yes. "Let-down" Hurts damnit! And my right breast makes like five times what my left breast makes. My dearest shrink's response to all this was what? "Congratulations, you're a woman. Now you know they work." Thanks but I was well aware of their function long before I became bessie the cow. I'm going to have to work with him on his sensitivity issues.
So yeah. I'm lactating. Every day. My breasts make milk. But no problem. It's okay. At least I know they work.
Oh! And the best part? With the proper pressure from my thumb I can squirt milk across the room!
Seriously.
I am a full-on walking, talking, lactating, fembot, baby.
So, I've been brainstorming ways with which I can, excuse the pun, milk this oddball situation and I feel that I've come up with no solutions. Several male friends of mine were rather quick to remind me of Rose of Sharon in the Grapes of Wrath but I'm pretty sure I will be declining any and all offers to breastfeed adult men.
But then again, they may have a point. Screw nannying. Maybe I should just expand my horizons and set up shop as a wetnurse...

Clicking My Shoes Together

2006-10-03T13:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it looks like I'll be back home in two weeks. My mom is flying in on the 11th and we're going to drive all those thousands of miles, yet again.
I'm actually very much okay with all of this. It was a good learning experience. I took a chance and I gave it my best shot. I wouldn't take it back. I mean, I wouldn't repeat it either, but I wouldn't take it back. That whole cliche about everything teaches you a lesson actually kind of applies here because I definitely learned a few things about the world and about myself. I learned I'm stronger than I thought I was and much more resilient. And in the end, I'm no worse for the wear. In fact, I'm kind of better. I get to go home and spend time with all my moonbeams that I missed dreadfully and I now appreciate their parents so much more than I ever could have if I hadn't gone through this. Mrs. P (and I feel that I really should change her name now) has the appeal of an ice cream sandwich since having to deal with Baroness Bomburst. So I'll be home in time for Buddha's first birthday later this month and hopefully things will turn out just fine. In the meantime, I have a week to have some fun and relax. Getting fired's not so bad afterall.

Because It's Much Cooler on TV, Damnit

2006-09-29T17:57:00.000-07:00

For starters let me just say that I'm well aware of how spoiled I am when it comes to human interaction. Whether it's because of my face or my personality, I don't know but people generally like me. In fact, I've become well-accustomed to being quite loved by most everyone. This is great for the most part except when it's not. And when it's not, is right now. Because for someone like me, who isn't used to rejection, being rejected really sucks. A lot.
That being said, I was fired today. Fired. And one of the main reasons for this firing was what? Because Baroness Bomburst "didn't get warm and fuzzies" from me. No. Seriously. She repeated that several times. Apparently we "just don't connect." That being said, the main reason for my firing was this. I used her computer. I used her computer when she wasn't home to do the following: print coloring pages for Jeremy, the boy, check my e-mail, look something up on mapquest, and idly look at pictures of my Buddha that I had on Flickr. Now, as I told her, several times mind you, it was out of line for me not to ask. I will say that the former nanny had used it on several occasions and I hadn't realized it was a big deal, however that's no excuse. I definitely should have asked permission. In any event, that was "the straw that broke the camel's back" apparently. Turns out that the computer usage, coupled with the lack of "warm and fuzzies" in addition to my supposed "lack of initiative" was enough to sack me after two weeks of working for them. The initiative thing really bugs me because damnit if I haven't been trying as hard as I can to try and prove myself. I really truly, have. In any event, she's "very disappointed" in me and my "performance" as the nanny which "is a shame because (she) had such high hopes for (me) especially with my background." This mantra, too, was repeated several times. All in all, she basically kicked me in the teeth and told me that I should look for another job, "if (I) haven't already started" which she assumed I already had. I also got the impression that this wasn't a sudden decision. It seemed that she had been waiting, all week, for something concrete to be able to fire me. Otherwise she wouldn't have withheld the expense check for the children, which I was supposed to have gotten at the beginning of the week. Anyway, I gave her my keys back and said goobye to the children. This is the part that really pissed me off. I went to hug Jemima and said goodbye, to which she responded "No, don't leave. You can sleep downstairs." This is the same child that I was accused of "not connecting with" which was yet another reason for the firing. I was lectured on Wednesday about my inability to connect with Gemima. But that's a whole other bowl of bullshit. Jeremy tackled me when I kneeled down to say goobye and gave me a kiss as I left. They have no idea they'll never see me again. I'm sorry for them because in the last two weeks that I've known them, they have been nothing but affectionate, bright, energetic, albeit spoiled children and they don't deserve to be treated this way.
I hope she knows what she's in for, taking responsibility for her own children like this. I'm not sure she knows what she's getting herself into by raising them herself. It's not as though she's ever done it before.
In any event, I'm trying very hard not to take this personally. We didn't connect and a few months down the road I may just have quit anyway, so maybe she did us both a favor. Still, it hurts a bit.
And finally, I have to wonder if Baron Bomurst's friendliness towards me had anything do with this sudden firing. I think, in a way, it would hurt a little less to know that it wasn't something I did wrong but, whatever. Either way it's over. I have a lot of thinking to do this weekend. I don't know if I want to go home or not. Man this growing up thing sucks.

Between a Rock & a Hard Place

2006-09-26T18:05:00.000-07:00

My shrink once told me that I have slight sociopathic tendencies. At the time, I laughed because it sounded kinda cool. Now, I wish it were true because I can't for the life of me figure out how to talk myself out of this mess. I'm trapped. I'm living in a hotel, paid for by my employers. Originally they stated that they would pay for it for two months (2 mo = $4,000), during which I was supposed to save money and look for a permanent place to say. Well, I found a place. I want to move. Only problem is that I haven't actually gotten a paycheck from them yet and I've spent, literally, every penny I have on this move and on my car. They didn't pay me to relocate, which I now realize I should have tried to negotiate beforehand. Basically I'm in a position where I need their money. The security for this place is $1300. They are willing to advance me the money so that they can take a little bit out of my paycheck every week until it's paid off. This is good. Except that there is no way I want to be in debt with them for three months. The idea I put forward was that they use some of the money that I saved them by moving out of the hotel a month and a half early on the security for my deposit. Afterall, if the money was going to be used on my housing anyway, wouldn't transering it make sense? Makes perfectly good sense to me. Erm, no. Not to the selfish assholes that are my employers. No. According to the father, what they were doing by paying for my hotel was them generously investing in my getting settled. Generosity my ass. I moved out here on the condition that I would have a freaking roof over my head. That I would have two months to save money for a place to say. Well, the instant I got here, I got e-mails after e-mails with listings for apartments. It was clear that they wanted me out of the hotel as soon as possible. They even loaned me a company car when mine broke down so that I could drive around looking for places to stay. Not because it might be a bit dangerous and scary for me to be stranded in a strange town with absolutely no means of transportation. No. So that I could look for apartments. So I did. I found a place. It's a house share in a beautiful home that's owned by a really sweet Indian couple. Well, because this isn't a regular apartment, they didn't ask for a lease agreement. This is a problem for my employers. They feel that it's too big of a risk to hand over so much money without a written agreement. Okay. That makes sense. I get it. I agree to get a written agreement the following day. Half an hour. Half an hour I sit there listening to the husband explaining all the risks involved and the reasoning behind their pressing this. I get it! Really. I get it. I nod. I say, okay. I understand. Over and over again. I feel like I'm listening to my father telling me about boys and why they can't be trusted. Broken record. Really, I get it. I get it. Finally, I approach with my idea regarding the money saved on the hotel and my security deposit. What do I get it? A patronizing smile and yet another rant about their generosity and how it isn't as though they has allotted a certain amount of money for me. That it wasn't intended to be transferable, that my getting an apartment sooner wasn't some sort of incentive to pocket money, though that's clearly not what I'm doing. And so I'm pissed. More than pissed. I'm pissed me at me. I'm pissed at them. I'm pissed because they are being godamned misers and over what? $1300. That's fucking pocket change for them. It wouldn't make a dent in their checkbooks. And it's not as though they weren't intending on spending nearly double that on my housing anyway, right? But on the otherhand, I don't want to be a begger. I don't want to have to plead for this, because damnit, I'm too proud for that. However, I definitely do not want to be in debt with them for three months. Either way, I'm still a charity case. Either way, I'll owe them. Owe them for their generosity, or literally owe them money. And I'm starting to hate them. For being affluent assholes. For talking to me like I'm twelve. For making me feel like I'm in a vault with no way out. And there is no way out. And I hate it. Because I'm here thanks to them. I can't leave. I can't escape. I'm completely flat, fucking, broke. So I'm lassoed to them. Completely shackled and trapped.
Shit.

The Crazies are in the House

2006-09-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

I didn't post about my first week earlier because I honestly couldn't figure out how to cram my entire 48 hour week into a concise, coherent post. And I still don't know if I can pull it off. Hell Week. That's what it was. I really think it's a bad sign when I'm dreading getting up on the second Monday of a new job.
The funny thing is that the kids are relatively easy to handle. If it were just them, I could totally do this. But just like before, the hardest part is not caring for the children but appeasing the parents. And these people have been repeatedly smacked with the crazy stick. If the dishwasher is not loaded just how he likes it, the father will literally, take out all the dishes and re-load it. I can't just park randomly in the parking area of the house. No. I have to park next to another car so that it looks neat. I'm not allowed to be in the kitchen at the same time as anyone else. I have to slice roma tomatoes in half before I can pack them in the kids' lunches. I can't "overcook" the kids' laundry in the dryer. I have to call the mom after I drop of the kids every morning to let her know that they're at school. I have to clean and vaccum out the car every other week. Etc. Etc. Etc.
Just keeping all of these rules straight in my head is driving me looney. It's like walking on eggshells with these people. I'm absolutely terrified of inadvertantly screwing something up. And the mother makes no qualms about letting one know when she's not happy about something.
Did I mention that this family is uber wealthy? As in multi-millionaires. As in they own practically the entire town that they live in. As in they are widely disliked in this same town. As in, I had only been working for them for four days before someone gave me a pitied look for having to work for them and then launched into a diatribe about why they are snooty and evil.
And yet another rule is that I'm not allowed to talk about them. To anyone. Because they are so ubiquitious in this town, anything that I say will undoubtedly get back to them. I didn't ask if this covers blogs ...
So yeah. I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this. And I honestly don't know if it's worth it. Is it worth $15 and hour and health benefits to work 40-60 hours a week, rasing two children for a family who is this anal and controlling? Is it worth this much stress and anxiety? *sigh* In any case, I'm seeing this through at least three months. That's the promise I made myself. Three months. And if I'm still completely and utterly miserable after that amount of time, I'll give them my notice. In the meantime I have to find a way to stay relatively sane.

Oh, and did I mention my car died? Yeah. Icing.

The World and I Are Not on Speaking Terms

2006-09-23T15:11:00.000-07:00

I just talked to my mom today and I found out that Abuelito was recently sexually abused by a fourteen year old boy who was a friend of their family and who occasionally cared for him and his sister. I'm so angry at the world, I just don't know what to do or how to feel. I'm furious and I don't know who to be angry at. He's only four years old! He's a little boy and he doesn't deserve this. Apparently it happened a few months ago but they just recently became aware of it when Abuelito acted out the molestation with another boy at his preschool. Because it occurred at school, CPS had to be called in and the police were in involved. The mother of the older boy, who committed the abuse was originally very cooperative but when Abuelito's moms tried to talk to the boy and his father the family shut down and hired an attorney. The two families attend the same church and the churchmembers are angry with Abuelito's parents for involving the authorities and supposedly blowing the situation out of proportion. And in the midst of all of this, are the two boys. Because as much as I want to be angry at the kid who did this to Abuelito, I know he's suffering as well, and at some point he was probably a victim of abuse himself. My mom took care of Abuelito and Donna last night because their parents had some work thing to attend to and according her, Abuelito is very removed and he refused her help when getting ready for bed. My heart just breaks for him. He's such a sweet, affectionate, loving little boy full of joy and enthusiasm and the fact that somebody took away his innocence just devastates me. I can't even imagine what his moms are going through. They've been through so much as it is, but this is just so much more than any parent should ever have to deal with. I just, I'm so shocked, I can barely vocalize any of this. Kissing this boo boo just won't cut it. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

First Day

2006-09-18T17:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I survived my first day of work. Eleven and a half hours. I'm actually feeling really good about this. I was getting a little worried because the current (almost former) nanny is like superwoman. She's been working 50 hours a week despite the fact that she has walking pneumonia. She runs the household with grace and dignity and is incredibly wise. I know I can do a good job but there's no way in hell I can do everything that this woman does. But anyway, it was a good day. She's awesome about giving me all the ins and outs of the job and about sharing responsibilities. Truly, she's phenomenal. So while I may feel a bit inadequate next to her, I know that she's preparing me very well for this and I'm so grateful. In other good news, I received my first birdy today as I was trying to make a left hand turn. I'm oddly proud of this. I feel like I've been officially indoctrinated as a New Yorker somehow.

Details & Red Tape

2006-09-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

Well, folks, I did it. I took the job. I drove to New York. Yes, drove. Thousands of miles. From the west coast to the east. Craziness. I'm here now and getting settled in. It's crazy how much crap and red tape I have to deal with. I was completely unprepared to spend quite so much time figuring things out. Thank god for my mother who drove out here with me and flew back this morning. Yesterday we woke up early and headed out to the post office to open a PO Box. Because I'm living out of a hotel room at the moment, we figured it'd be helpful to have an address for mail. Nope, I needed a New York driver's license to get a PO Box. So we headed to the local DMV to transfer my licencse but the catch 22 is that I needed an address to put down. So we decided to use the hotel address in the meantime. Then, since I had just transfered my license, we tried to register my car, only problem is that I needed to have my insurance transferred to NY as well so we packed up again and headed over to State Farm where we had to transfer over my policy and figure all that out. Then we went back to the DMV to and registered my car and got the new license plates. So then we stopped by Home Depot to get nuts and bolts because in NY you need license plates on the front and the back of your car. Unfortunately they didn't have what we needed, I need to get a special frame to put the plate in because the front holes don't fit the holes in the plate. Then we went back to the Post Office and I turned in my application for a PO Box but it turns out that the guy who deals with all PO Box applications and whatnot is on vacation so I won't be hearing from them until Tuesday or so. Then we went by Staples to try and get me organized. I got a new planner and some new file folders and whatnot. And finally we stopped by a credit union and opened a savings and checking accout for me here. Which, again, I had to use the hotel address for. Did I mention, that it was pouring rain the entire day? *sigh* So that was my day yesterday. Running errands back and forth. On the bright side, at least I have a much better sense of the area now. I still have to go get my oil changed and then go for my emissions test so that I can be fully registered and licensed and all that. Man is it complicated. Thank god most of it is overwith and thank god for my mother who helped me through it all. I start work on Monday for the family. The current nanny is leaving on Friday so I'll have five days to train with her. I'm excited and a little nervous. Wish me luck!

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Tick ...

2006-08-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have to make up my mind now. I got home from NY today. The interview(s) went well. I got offered the job. I told them I'd let them know by Wednesday what my decision is. The kids are absolutely precious. They are nine months apart and are both four at the moment. I'll call them Sally and Conrad (from the Cat in the Hat) because they are cute and blonde and look like twins. They are sweet and very affectionate and relatively well mannered and compared to Bunny they're a piece of cake. The current nanny is super nice and she was such a huge help the last couple of days. She really helped me get the gist of what I'd be doing and she spoke honestly about the ups and downs of working for the family. So far my two biggest hang ups are #1 leaving Bunny and Buddha. #2 The Mom. Sally and Conrad's mom, that is, not Mrs. P. I know I bitch and moan about Mrs. P because she's a micro-managing, super anxious control freak, but this mom? Is Mrs. P squared, plus a British accent and a shitload of money. She's terse and stony and not terribly affable. More than that though, I don't know how I feel about working for someone who doesn't appreciate her own kids. The children are IVF babies. These parents went out of their way to create them and spent thousands upon thousands of dollars to pay separate surrogates to carry them and while the mother professes her devotion and insists that they are her world, she has not once been their primary caregiver. They had nurses since the day they were born and have full-time nannys after them. She literally spends close to $50,000 a year paying other people to raise her children. And even though she's educated and polite and kind, I just don't know if I can handle or respect a person who doesn't value spending time with her own kids. Because as obnoxious as Mrs. P is to deal with sometimes, I have never once doubted her devotion to her kids. But this lady? I just don't know. It's as though these kids are an accessory to be brought out on special occasions. Something that Conrad said really boiled down the situation. He asked me who was taking care of my children while I was visiting them. Their nanny explained that just like sometimes his mother takes care of him when she's away, my kids' parents were taking care of them while I was gone.
He nodded his head, understanding.
It made sense ... but I was floored.
He lives in a world where parents are abstract figures. Where his mother only takes care of him when the nanny is unavailable. He doesn't know anything different. I just don't know if I want to be a part of that world as well.

Growing Food

2006-08-23T23:00:00.000-07:00

I hung out with the Musketeers today while their parents attended an orientation meeting for Athos' Kindergarten. Porthos had a bit of a meltdown during dinner so while I was off dealing with him, Athos took it upon himself to serve himself a lot more food. And by a lot I mean, he filled his entire plate with pasta and peas and then began grating himself parmesian in addition to quite a bit of watermelon.

Me: Seconds huh?
Athos: Yeah.
Me: Wow, you must be hungry.
Athos: Mhhh hmm.
Me: That's a lot of food.
Athos: Yeah.
Me: You really think you can eat all of that?
Athos: Oh yeah.
Me: Okay
Athos: I really want to grow tonight.
Me: Oh ... I see.
Athos: Yeah. *muttering* I'm in kindergarten now. Yeah ... I'm really gonna grow. Definitely.

Such conviction.

Bosoms

2006-08-23T16:34:00.001-07:00

My best friend Ellie got home on Sunday. Now Ellie is the tantamount girl scout. She's a jack of all trades. An expert on basically everything. But breasts are her specialty. We were watching a movie last night when she turned to me and muttered
"Your bra doesn't fit."
"I know." I sighed. I've been in denial about my bras thinking if I just drop a few lbs, they will fit again.
"We're going shopping tomorrow." She informed me and since I needed to buy a nice outfit for my impending interview I agreed. And so we resumed our movie watching.
Ellie has had breasts since as long as I can remember. She was one of the first kids to ever get a training bra and in highschool when I was barely a B, she would lecture me, insisting that I not complain about my chest for she was cursed with the opposite problem. Now Ellie has enormous breasts. And by enormous, I really do me large. She currently wears a 42 DDD and must purchase them at Lane Bryant because nothing else will fit her right. She's an expert on breasts and bras, so I generally trusted her to lead me in the right direction. What was the first thing we did? Get fitted.
I am a 36 D.
36 D.
36 D.
36 D.
My world came crashing down and suddenly things started making sense. Riding horseback and wincing every time we pranced particularly quickly. Buddha constantly trying to nurse from me. Children who fall asleep on my chest. Men who stare at what I used to think were my witty t-shirts. My brother complaining that I stretched out his t-shirt. My inability to sleep on my belly comfortably. All of it suddenly came together.
I don't know when the hell that happened but I blame Ellie.
Her breasts are contagious.

Serious Mula

2006-08-22T01:01:00.000-07:00

Things are really progressing fast. I'm heading to NY this coming Friday. I'm excited and nervous. The parents are an uber-wealthy, high-powered couple and I'm definitely intimidated. I knew they were fairly affluent to begin with. Hell, anyone who can afford to pay upwards of $30,000 a year on chilcare can be considered well-to-do, but I didn't realize just quite how rich they actually are. And boy are they ever. The father is a businessman, which is really all I can say without revealing his identity. The mother is the president of a very large real estate company in the Northeast. They own two homes in the New York area and have a private plane with which they travel to and from their various abodes. The children, who are four and almost five attend an incredibly elite preschool and are pretty much already on their ivy league journey. I have absolutely no idea how to handle people like that. Dr. Doormat and Mrs. P, while not poor by any means, don't have a fraction of the money that these people do. So I'm terrified. Scared that I'll commit some serious social faux pas, that I simply won't be sophisticated, smart, pretty etc. enough for such a family. That even if they do like me, I won't know how to fit into such a foreign world. I feel like awkward Alice, trying to play croquet with a freaking flamingo knowing all the while that if she screws up she'll be beheaded. Except that I'm being incredibly overdramatic and I know it. So I just have to keep reminding myself that while this job would be a great opportunity, I don't need it, persay. If this whole thing goes to pot, I still have Buddha and Bunny ... and my head.

Interview

2006-08-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

I remember in highschool I took a Communication Arts class and we spent a good week covering the right way to behave in a job interview. I remember acing that class. But that's about all I remember. I'm hoping some of it comes back to me because it looks like I'm headed for New York. The family that I've been corresponding with while I was away wants to fly me out for an interview. Eeek. I'm way excited. And super scared. Now I can be incredibly charming when I want to be but this interview is freaking me out. Maybe it's because I make it a point to try not to care what people think of me and getting interviewed is precisely that - being judged. Yuck. Anyway, the current nanny sounds ridiculously perfect and I know that she is very loved so I'm a bit intimidated about filling her shoes. Furthermore, the mother happens to be British and sounds very prim and proper. And while I'm no stranger to particular mothers, she does have very specific ways of controlling her children's lives. I hope I can pick up on her eccentricities fast enough. I know I can handle this job. Alright, alright, I'm pretty sure I can handle this job. The trick is convincing them that I can handle it. And so, I'm being thrust back to highschool, trying to make the popular kids love me at a new school. Generally though, isn't that what job interviews are all about though? They're just as much a test on social prowess as job skill. So, I guess I should really do some laundry because it looks like I'm going to be packing my bags for the third time this summer.

Where's My Boob?

2006-08-20T11:10:00.000-07:00

This video had me laughing my ass off. It reminds me of Buddha and his voracious appetite.

Decisions, Decisions

2006-08-04T21:06:00.000-07:00

I feel horribly guilty. As I'm whining about missing Buddha, I'm also looking for a way out. I love my job. I really do. I get paid to play for cripe's sake! And I love those little ones more than I ever thought humanly possible. But I need more than that now. And I'm currently being interviewed for a nanny job in New York that has health benefits and use of a car as well as a 50% raise from what I'm currently earning now. The fact is, ten dollars an hour is crap. What's horrible is, I know that some people literally live on half of that. But I'm working my ass off being mom to these children, being a marital buffer to the parents and not earning nearly enough to pay the bills and actually have any spending money. This job would not only give me a change of scenery but I'd get a lot more perks as well. But I'm torn. All of my babies are here. My parents still live here. And while I do like to pretend to be a tough-ass, independent chick, I do occasionally enjoy having my mommy take care of me. I figure, I spend my days taking care of other people's children, I deserve to go home and get a little TLC of my own. Furthermore, I just don't know how I could handle being away from my little Buddha. I overly gush, I know, but I truly love that child. Also, I shudder to think how neurotic he'll be by his first birthday if he spends too much time with his mother. I know they say they "need" me but I also know they are far more capable of child rearing than they think. And if they do absolutely need a replacement, I'm sure my sister will gladly take over. She wouldn't be able to fulfill as many hours as I do because of her school schedule but it'd be enough to keep Mrs. P on this side of insanity. Yes, they'd be sad but they'd get over it. They were parents before me and than can be parents again, once I leave. If I took this job though, I'd have to leave the first week of September, which means I'd miss Bunny's fifth birthday and then Buddha's first in October. I've been working on elaborate birthday presents for the both of them for months now. I can't imagine not being there to celebrate with them. And it's New York! I lived there for two years a decade ago. I hardly remember it and while I do have a bit of extended family in the city, I would be, for all intents and purposes, alone. By myself. For the first time in really, forever. And that's scary. A lot scarier than I'd like to admit, actually. So I'm stuck. Vacillating endlessly. But the deadline is looming. Should I or should I not take this job? Should I stay here with the family I adore (and occasionally detest) earning the same old paycheck, constantly driving on a nearly empty tank of gas or should I go, take a risk, be independant and see if this new opportunity could work out?
Uhg.
Boy do I miss the days when things were either good or bad. You either made a right choice or a wrong choice.
But alas, I have two choices in front of me now. The proverbial fork in the road. And I'm sitting right in the middle, unsure of where to go. One moment I'm sure I want to go to NY and the next I'm cowering at the idea. I just. Don't. Know.
And I'm beginning to realize that I'm much better at taking care of other people's children than I am at taking care of myself.
Growing up sucks.

Missing My Buddha

2006-07-27T22:09:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow morning I get on a plane to leave the country for three weeks. I've been away from home loads of times and spent months abroad by myself but this is the first time I've been so reticent about taking a trip. I'm leaving the Buddha, now nine months old, for the first time since he was born. I've been with him, literally since he was a fetus, and I was there when he was born. I have never spent more than nine days away from him and now I'll be gone for three weeks. It sounds ridiculous, I'm sure but I'm scared shitless. What will I do without his cute baby gurgles and his now toothy grin? How will I cope without the constant aroma of spit-up all over my clothes? Miserably, I tell you. I've recorded myself singing to him so that he won't forget my voice and I made sure that they have pictures of me with him so that he won't forget what I look like. What? I know it's a bit neurotic but three weeks is a long time in his life okay!? I've also uploaded mini vids of him on YouTube so that when I'm really missing his snuggles and laughs I can watch him on my computer.
But I'm still very, very sad and I'm not sure why. Logically, I know he can't forget me in three weeks. And I know that I'll have a lot of fun. That this trip is important. But lord how my heart aches to think about leaving him. I've done everything for him, short of nursing him. I was there when he was born, when he first sat up, when he ate his first food, when he got his first tooth and when he stood up, bracing himself on the furniture. I was there when he got his first cold and his second and his third. I rocked him and put him to sleep when nothing short of drugging him would work. I've walked and rocked, and sang and slept with him in my arms and lord how I love this boy. He's turned me into an oxytocin junky. I can't cope going through a day without a moderate amount of cuddles. I love every inch of him. His soft hair, his big blue eyes, his mile long lashes. Everything, even the way, his chins reek of vomit when spit-up collects and sours in his rolls. Even how he pulls at my hair and tries to eat it. Even how he's starting to develop a temper or how he screams bloody murder when I set him on the floor. And I know it's ridiculous. He's not even my baby right? But I talked to him when he was in the womb and I held him moments after he was born. I even got to touch his umbilical cord and exam his placenta. I've changed hundreds of his diapers and given him countless baths. Taken him for walks and played on the floor with him for hours on end. I couldn't love him more if he was my flesh and blood. And lord how I'm going to miss him. I'm afraid he'll get a new tooth while I'm gone. Or hit a major milestone without me. And it's purely selfish, I know, but I'm worried that maybe, he'll love me just a little bit less when I come back. That maybe, he won't need me as much anymore. That he'll realize life goes on without nanny and I'll be second string somehow. Or maybe, he'll figure out that I won't always be there. That I'm not a permanent, inimitable fixture in his life. That I'm not, like I sometimes wish I was, his mother afterall. That I'm just the nanny. And that, I think, will break my heart more than just being apart.

Planes and Parenting

2006-07-24T04:17:00.000-07:00

If I wanted to be squished and kicked and unable to listen to my ipod over the din of a temper tantrum then maybe I would have gone to Philadelphia with Mrs. P and Dr. Doormat. Instead, I chose to attend a family wedding this past week. Big mistake. On SO many levels. Of course, the universe had to remind me that my life revolves around munchkins because my seat was directly in front of a family with two children under the age of six. My seat in particular was directly in front of the boy's seat. Boy looked about four or five and he didn't stop kicking and/or jostling my seatback for the entire three hour plane ride. Three hours of getting kicked in the back. Glorious. The litttle girl on the other hand, who looked to be three or four had three tempter tantrums throughout the flight. One hour into the flight and my devotion towards humans under the age of ten completely dissipated. I wanted to strangle the little tykes. As I sat there fuming though, I realized that it wasn't the kids' that I should be irriated at but the parents. These children had no concept that their behavior was affecting everybody else on the flight. Not only were they disrupting me, but they were loud enough to be heard by every single person on the plane and yet they seemed fully oblivious to this. And the mother? She would simply sigh and mutter soft words of lord knows what to them. The father on the other hand, said absolutely nothing. I know not all parents are cut out to be "bad cops" but for both parents to just sit there and allow their offspring to disrespect an entire plane full of people apalls me. It's rude and shameful. These parents clearly could not set boundaries nor could they discipline properly. The kids were wild. I'm not advocating corporal punishment but enough is enough. Mr. T, for all his faults would NEVER have had the gall to behave that way. And had he lost control of his emotions, we would have instantly been in a tiny plane bathroom having a timeout together and talking about his behavior and it's effect on the people around him. I know it's embarrassing when kids act out in public but that's no excuse for avoiding discipline. Children need to understand that there is a world outside themselves but continually catering to a child's inherently self-absorbed moods can't come to any good. Sometimes children need to be humored but any sort of public arena is not an appropriate time to do that. Mr. T knows that if he disrupts other people or is unable to behave in an appropriate manner, he will be removed from whatever social situation he's in. Granted that's not possible on an airplane but at four he is already beginning to understand that other people's needs are valid as well. Humans are inherantly selfish beings. Empathy is a learned trait and the longer children are allowed to behave as though they alone matter, the development of important social skills are delayed. Being able to function in any society involves having a degree of compassion. I see more and more that children are not taught the value of other people's feelings and it worries me. I hope for the sake of that mother that she comes to her senses because already those children are far too self-absorbed. I wish parents would realize that there's more to parenting than making your kids happy. Parenting is about teaching and children need to be taught, now more than ever, the art of compassion.

Strict Vegetarian

2006-07-11T23:53:00.000-07:00

One afternoon, Bunny, Buddha and I were playing outside in the backyard. Bunny was off with his vehicles and Buddha and I were enjoying the fun grass. Upon seeing Buddha attempt to rip out pieces of grass and put them in his mouth I joked that already he was a vegetarian, like Bunny, myself and his parents. We played awhile longer and not long after, I noticed that Buddha was now trying to put fistfuls of dirt into his mouth. I quickly scooped him up and wiped him off, trying to supress giggles. Bunny just shook his head and with an air of superiority explained to me that "he just doesn't know that vegetarians don't eat dirt."
Oh Bunny, it's a good thing you have such a wise older brother to teach you these things. Silly, Rabbit. Dirt's not for vegetarians!

The Cherub

2006-07-11T12:17:00.000-07:00

Name: Cherub
DOB: May, 2001
Sign: Gemini
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue/Green
Trademark: Golden curls
Likes: Super heroes, rescue heroes, Thomas the Tank Engine, puzzles, books, animals, pizza, mac and cheese, organic horizon chocolate milk and hugs.
Dislikes: Vegetables, bedtime, getting his hair washed
Idiosyncrasies: Likes to Wear his shoes on the wrong feet.
Personality: Fairly easy-going. Good-natured. Preternaturally patient. Behaves best when one on one. Loves human interaction. Is very affectionate. Has no problem with solitary play-time. Loves to be read to. Is a people pleaser. Likes to wrestle and to be tickled. Enjoys playing with water. Has more emotional than verbal maturity. Is very trusting.

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Cherub was the first baby I ever truly took care of on a continual basis. He was fiteen months old when I started with his family. His sister was three. No matter how many kids I get, this one will always have a special place in my heart. He was the first child to tell me he loved me. (More importantly, without any outside instigation.) We grew up together. I was still very much a child when I first met him and he's helped me grow in ways I can't even fathom. He's taught about love, devotion, compassion and caring. He continues to suprise me, constantly.
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The moment I knew he was a little devil.

Don't let his gorgeous curls and innocent green eyes fool you. This little one always has something up his sleeve. I remember one afternoon when he was 18 months old. He was busy playing with his Thomas trains and his big sister, Pipsqueak, was coloring across the room. With an air of casual nonchalance, he toddled over to where she lay on the floor, picked up the box of markers she had been using and off-handedly through them to the floor, scattering them. He then proceeded to scamper right back to his train table after giving me a sly grin. I was schocked an in awe of the little guy. Already, at only 18 months, he knew what and how to make his sister tick. More importantly he knew it was wrong. Upon receiving his three minute timeout sentence, he didn't even throw a tantrum but merely stood in the corner, patiently waiting for his punishment to be over. I was floored. I still have to remind myself not to underestimate him.

Loving them Too Much

2006-07-10T23:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder if it's possible to be so completely devoted to these little ones that it becomes unhealthy. Frequently, my shrink has joked that I'll never find a nanny like myself when I have my own kids. Honestly? I don't want one. If the parents knew how much I love their children, I don't know if they'd want me around anymore. I think every parent wants their nanny to like and possibly even love their charges but me? I absolutely, completely, unequivocally adore them. I would take and keep any one of them if asked. I can't imagine my life without them. In fact, I joke that I go through "baby withdrawals" if I ever get more than two days off. But it's not really a joke. Everytime I get a new kid or new family, I think that I'll never be able to like them or care about them as much as I do my others. And everytime I prove myself wrong. I'd easily give my life for any of them. Every. Single. One. Their pain is my pain. Their joy, my joy. Their sadness, my sadness. We're connected in a way that is indescribable and the more we spend time together, the more I need them. Need them to laugh, to cry, to feel. Without them, I'm empty. Without Purpose. And it scares me. Scares me that our relationship has become so utterly symbiotic.

My Many Moonbeams

2006-07-10T18:37:00.000-07:00

When I tell people that I'm a nanny, they ususally ask me one of five or so questions. First, how much do I make? $10 an hour. Second, have I ever slept with any of the dads? Not yet. ; ) Third, am I crazy? Probably. Fourth, Is it fun? Absolutely. And fifth, how manky kids? Two dozen. No, I don't nanny for the Duggars.I have a regular part-time, 30 hours a week job for one family with two children, but I also babysit for several different families, in addition to them. Over the past four years that I've been doing this, I've acquired apprx, a dozen families and two dozen children that I take care of regularly. Regularly, meaning, I see them at least once every month or two and have gotten to know them very well.
I organize them in my head in different ways. By gender. By age. By length of time I've known them. etc. Here is what I've come up with.

The Ones that Stole My Heart - Precocious Pipsqueak and her younger brother, Cherub. They are seven and five respectively and they are the first children I ever officially cared for on a continuous basis. Cherub's recent fifth birthday marked four years that I've been caring for them.
The Mild Mannered Munchkins - Thing 1 (Girl) and Thing 2 (Boy) They're not twins, but are only 15 months apart and are the sweetest most docile pair I've ever met. They adore each other, rarely fight, and are ridiculously good-natured. If they weren't so loving and doting, I might suspect them of being Children of the Damned. They are now five and almost four respectively and I've been taking care of them since Mrs. Stepford (their mother) was pregnant with Thing 2.
Yin & Yang - Little Miss Motormouth and her younger brother Tender Tyke, couldn't be more different if they tried. She is tiny with huge dark eyes and a shock of dark curls. He, is tall, blonde and blue eyed. She's precocious and sassy, full of opinions and not afraid to voice them. He's quiet and timid, ever the people pleaser, and oh-so-very senstive. They are five and three respectively and I've been taking care of them since Tyke was eight months old.
The Three Musketeers - Athos, the big brother is intense, serious and focused. Porthos, the middle brother idolizes his big brother, is fairly easy-going and has quite a temper. And then there's little Aramis. The golden child. The third and last. He was a welcome surprise and is incredibly wise for being 13 months old. He loves people and connects with everyone. They are five, three and one. I've been caring for them since Porthos was about ten months old.
Seditious Squirts - Dennis the Menace and his little brother, the Tazmanian Devil have some of the most angelic faces ever. Big blue eyes and soft blonde hair and cute round cheeks but boy are they trouble makers. Dennis was walking at ten months and hasn't taken a break since then. He can climb into anything, no matter how small or high up. He's not intentionally contumacious, but boy is he a handful. His brother Taz is following in his big brother's footseps. At twelve months and twelve lbs he can zoom around so fast, you'd think he was a super hero. Taking care of them is always an adventure in gravity defiance.
Princess - She's three and a half, quiet, timid, shy but incredibly observant. She rarely talks to anyone but people she's really close to but when she does talk, it's usually very profound. And she hears everything. She and Bunny are good friends. I've been taking care of her since she was 18 months old.
The Only Child - Like Princess, Maddie (short for Madness) is an only child. Unlike Princess, she is spoiled beyond belief. She's bossy and pushy and very vocal. She knows what she wants and intends to get it. If she weren't six, I'd ask her for some tips.
Ragamuffin - Adopted from China at 15 months, this little one has been through quite a bit in her five years of life. Currently, her (single) mother is fighting brain cancer and it's threatening to orphan the poor girl for the second time. Despite her severe abandonment issues, she's made tremendous progress over the past four years and has developed into quite a little sassy individual. She loves Disney princesses and is a total girly girl.
The Endearing Divas - Mr. I and his baby brother Mr. J are two hilarious little dudes. At two and a half, Mr. I definitely inherited his mother's dramatic flare. He's little and squishy and so funny. Nothing is ever boring with him as he constantly adds spice to everything we do. His three month old brother is already showing signs of a similar personality.
Bilingual Babes - Super white, with blue and green eyes, respectively, it always cracks me up to hear them ask for "agua." Abuelito at four is like a little old man: very quiet, soft-spoken and incredibly perceptive. Deep and thoughtful, he always keeps me on my toes. His sister, Prima Donna, is a firecracker. Loud and boisterous, at two, she is very clear about what she does and does no want. They are IVF babies and have two mommies. I've been taking care of them since Donna was six months old.
Struggling Rays of Sunshine - Unfortunately, I don't spend as much time with these two as I used to. Champ is about to turn three and has been in and out of the hospital since the day he was born. He suffers from two incredibly rare genetic disorders which threaten to take his life at any time. His big sister, Bella is an incredibly beautiful little first grader who somehow manages to cope with her little brother's illness as well as the fact that she gets shafted for attention. Despite the horrors that they've gone through, they manage to be two of the most affectionate loving children ever. I've taken care of them off and on since Champ was first receiving his diagnoses during his first year and I hope we have many more.
My Main Men - Bunny and Buddha. Mrs. Pinochet, their mother, poached me from Princess' mother about two years ago. I've been with them ever since. At almost five, Bunny is more than a handful. He's precocious and defiant and super spunky. He's one of the most difficult and charming children I've ever met. His younger brother, Buddha is eight and a half months old and is just brimming with charisma. I've been with them through so much, their father says I'm like their third child. Ha. I spend the bulk of my time with these two little ones. I couldn't love them more, if they were my own flesh and blood. Together, the three of us brave life and the trials and triumphs that it brings.
Miscellaneous Munchkins - I have several other children that I take care of, but since I don't spend as much time with them, I'll introduce them later, if the need arises.

Preschool Anatomy

2006-07-10T15:51:00.000-07:00

On Friday, Cherub came over and had a playdate at Bunny and Buddha's house. Cherub is three and a half months older than Bunny and they are a perfect match for each other. What Cherub lacks in verbal skills, he makes up for in emotional maturity. And Bunny, on the other hand, may speak like a Princeton scholar but he is very much lacking in his ability to verbalize and comprehend his feelings. And so, I was rather reticent about having them interact. They are both active, fun-loving and snuggly but their temperaments and personlaties are incredibly different. So, I approached the day, with some measured optimism. Once the Buddha was down for his morning nap, Cherub's mom dropped him off and Bunny immediately gave him a tour of his room. Much to my surprise, they got along famously. Sure there were a few momentary squablles regarding sharing of the Thomas Trains but no meltdowns and no acts of violence, so I was thrilled. Later that morning, Buddha woke up and Cherub adored him much to Bunny's chagrin. Eight months after the babe was born and he still harbors great feelings of resentment and jealosy towards his little brother. Cherub, on the otherhand, is the youngest of two and is used to being the baby so he relishes any time that he can be the big kid and act as the nurturer. It was beautiful to see him in such a caring role.
Buddha is a boy. A Beautiful boy, with huge lashes and pink pouty lips, but a boy nonetheless. Cherub had a hard time understanding this and kept referring to him as "she." Bunny, ever the reational little fellow, immediately corrected him every time. This became the basis for their biggest argument.
"Boy. Boy. He's a boy." He would say, everytime Cherub referred to his little brother as a girl. I merely smiled as I overheard their conversation from the kitchen, where I was preparing lunch. Though they were arguing, they were "using their words," so I let them be. Finally, they came to me, the all-knowing Solommon, to fix their little dispute.
"Nanny!" Cherub called. "Is it a boy?"
"Yep." I nodded. I received a smug grin from Bunny and a doubtful look from Cherub. A few moments later I heard Bunny explaining to him.
"He's a boy, Cherub. He has a penis." He declared to his friend. A momentary pause from Cherub. He sat, contemplating this new revelation for a moment.
"Let me see it." He muttered skeptically. Bunny obliged and quickly peeled the velcro from Buddha's cloth diaper.
"See? A penis!" He announced proudly.
"Oh." Cherub murmured. And with that, they continued to play in harmony.
They did it. They used their words, their communication skills and their logic. I was fully impressed. I'm so proud of them.

Nap Time

2006-07-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

Cherub and I went to the Science Center today and had a blast. We had lunch, laughed and looked at lots of science-y stuff but what he was really looking foward to was a Star program at the planetarium. All day long, he kept asking when we could see the "star movie." Not in a pestering way, but wondering how much closer we were to the highlight of the afternoon. Finally it was time and we hurried to the planetarium and managed to get second in line for the show. Fortunately we got the best seats in the house. Unfortunately we had to wait for 20 minutes while everybody else got situated. Bless him, Cherub was incredibly patient. Finally, it started and our "star guide" while enthusiastic was a bit on the overly chipper side and even though he had a microphone, insisted on yelling everything. In any case, our star tour was off to a great start except for the nauseau and spinning part. So, I leaned over to ask Cherub if he was okay. Because I so was not. He nodded and stared in fascination at the huge domed ceiling. Satisfied, I closed my eyes, unable to keep staring at the spinning and twirling and vomit-inuducing spectacle. During a lull, a few minutes later, I heard snoring. Yep, asleep. Not even ten minutes into the highly anticipated show and he was fast asleep. The swirling lights and the yelling guide and the oohing and aaahhing were not enough to keep him awake. He was totally passed out but I just couldn't wake him. Not if he was that tired. Eventually the movie ended, the people filed out, graciously stepping over his little sleeping legs. And the enthusiastic guide? "You can't stay here ma'am. We need to set up for the next show." Uhg. First off, do NOT call me ma'am. And secondly? Does he have no heart? What kind of human being could resist such a beautiful sleeping angel? So, I reluctantly flung my purse over my shoulder and lifted him into my arms. For a moment I thought he was going to stay asleep. But just as we got to the EXIT door, his head shot up.
"Where ... where .... where are the people?" He asked, very confused.
"What about the movie?" He continued absolutely bewildered.
"You fell asleep, buddy. You missed it." I winced, hoping he wouldn't be too disappointed.
"Oh." And suddenly very awake, he slid out of my arms and onto the floor pulling me out of the planetarium.
"That was such a great movie." He murmured as we continued walking.
"Wasn't it?" He asked me, cheerfully.
I grinned and nodded in agreement.
Oh, Cherub. You crack me up. I don't what you were dreaming about buddy, but it must have been good.

Working Mother

2006-06-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

Mrs. P has decided to "go back to work" now that her baby is 8 months old. This means that for five-eight hours a week, on Friday's only, she is a working mother. But more importantly that means that Fridays are freaking fantastic. I can get Bunny ready for school without her constant reminders that he take his vitamins, that he have fruit in his lunch, that he eats breakfast BEFORE he gets dressed and that he put on his sunscreen prior to putting on his shirt and shorts. You see, there is a VERY specific order to everything that happes in that house. But on Friday's? Oh no. Fridays are glorious. I can get Buddha down for both of his naps without her harping about whether he's pooped yet or if the fan over his crib is too high or if I forgot to put on his air purifier. I can feed him his rice cereal without her worrying if it's getting in his hair. I can play with him outside without her freaking out about the sun or the horrible chemicals in (Water Baby) sunscreen. I can feed Bunny his snack when he gets home from school without her reminding me to mix 50% water into his 100% organic cranberrie juice. We can *gasp* sit on the couch and color with crayons and amazingly not get any on the fabric. We can get out more than five toys at a time and manage to get them put away. We can turn on the radio really loud and dance. But mostly, we can relax and enjoy our day without Mrs. Pinochet on our backs. And when she gets home in a foul mood, I can grin because thank god I wasn't one of the people having to deal with her all day long. Fridays rock. Tomorrow is Friday.

Following the Rules

2006-06-27T00:42:00.000-07:00

Bunny's Mom whom we'll kindly call Pinochet has very strict rules regarding pretty much every aspect of her sons' lives. She basically attempts to control how they get dressed (no. really) what, and how they eat, and yes, how long they sleep. This sounds like a nomal concerned parent? Wait and see. I don't kid when I say that the hardest part about working for Dr. Doormat and Mrs. P is keeping in line with all the freaking rules. One of my least favorite rules is the rule that states. "Bunny must get up from his nap at two regardless of when he went to sleep." She leaves me notes, continually, reminding me of this fact. I may take one to scan it for disbelievers. Now, this rule doesn't sound so bad. Especially not considering the fact that his (attempted) bedtime is seven pm. However, the lack of any leniency whatsoever is what distresses me. 2:00 means 2:00. Not 2:05. (though I like to stretch those five minutes out. shhh.) Not 2:15. She went APESHIT on Dr. Doormat one day when he "undermined" her by allowing me to let Bunny sleep an extra fifteen minutes. Now, there are several problems with this rule but my biggest issue with this rule is the whole "regladless of when he went to sleep" part. I HATE that part. Mrs. P insists that we are always on time and on (her) schedule however she has no issues continually changing that schedule without notice so long as SHE'S the one making the changes. So, if she says she's going to be home with Bunny at noon and wants me to have lunch ready so I can get him down for his nap before one so he can get up by two, then by golly, I will have lunch ready to go a 11:55 sharp. However, Mrs. P is like clockwork in the sense that she is almost always never on time. That of course, doesn't preclude us from always having to be on time. It just means that we have to be on her time. So, when she gets home at a quarter to one with a cranky, hungry four year old who decides that he no longer wants pizza for dinner but mac and cheese the whole "up by two regarldess ..." rule should logically amend itself to her being late, correct? No. Absolutely not. I'm supposed to make up for the lost 45 minutes. And if he doesn't actually fall asleep until 1:49 can I give him an extra 15 mintues of sleep, so that he can have a total of 26 minutes of naptime? Hell, no! And when she asks why he's in such a foul mood and I tell her it's because she only allowed him 11 minutes to sleep and why the hell can't she loosen the fuck up? She comes to her senses and apologizes for being such an anal control-freak and offers me a raise in repentance ... right? Wrong. Instead I just mutter that he's tired and she nods and says something about an early bed time tonight as I ponder ways that I could grow, steal or buy marijuana to slip into her tea because I fear that that is the only way that she could ever relax.

The Difference between Big and little kids

2006-06-17T13:18:00.000-07:00

One day when Princess was around 25 months old and Bunny was 38 months old, the three of us were having one of our tandem babysitting days. Their mothers are good friends, as are they so that wasn't uncommon back then. Princess toddled over to us from her room and very haughtily announced that she was "not a baby anymore!" because she was "two." Bunny solemnly agreed and nodding his head adamantly announced, "You're absolutely right, Princess. You're NOT a baby anymore; you're a little kid. Little kids' aren't babies. Me and Nanny, we're big kids and you're a little kid." Princess smiled, glad that someone agreed with her and the two of them then sat down and continued playing. I nearly choked, trying not to laugh. Oh, Bunny. In what universe are a three year old and an adult equal and a two and three year old on separate levels? In Bunny's universe of course. His illogical logic continues to astound, infuriate and tickle me to this day. But that's par for the course in toddlerland where I'm always "wrong" and they "know everything."

Introduction

2006-06-15T02:43:00.000-07:00

My life consists of work, play and sleep. I will be blogging about those three activities, all of which I have extensive knowledge in. Mostly, I'll be bitching. Occasionally, not, but mostly just bitching. I work as a nanny. Much of my blog will be regarding my job but some regarding the rest of my life. Most people might not care however, I think my opinions regarding children and parenting are valid and any parent should take heed. Until my next real post. So long.