How it all began:

Nanny Chronicles: Baby vs. Toddlers, or Permanent Suicide Watch

One of the many questions I get asked when I reveal my profession is "So, which do you prefer, babies or older kids?"

I could be lying. It's entirely possible that no one has asked me that question, and I just need a way to start this blog. But it feels like this has been asked of me before.

In my first few years as a nanny I would have said older kids all the way. This is because my experience with babies was limited to a few terrifying moments when an aunt would see me appropriately enchanted by their newborn and breathlessly ask, "Do you wanna hold him/her?" And I would nod numbly like a person agreeing to buy Girl Scout cookies: You really don't want to, but you'd feel like a complete ass if you say no. Honestly, no I do not want to hold your baby. Unlike a box of Girl Scout cookies, it's really hard to buy another if I drop it. And I would be firmly convinced that somehow, in the time it takes to transfer your miraculous bundle of love into my arms, the Crisco fairy would hop along and just coat my limbs with the stuff and BAM!  Shame and dishonor on my whole family, soul, and life. Have I actually ever dropped a baby? Well, no, but fear is more tangible than reality. As time passed I became more comfortable with infants. I started to really like working with them. Yes, you have to change diapers and you must be prepared to wear their lunch. If they are teething then God have mercy on your soul, but nothing will make you feel more accomplished faster than successfully changing that diaper, getting at least one spoonful of winter squash in their mouth, and running like hell out the door when your shift is over (because I'm sorry, nothing compares to the horror that is teething). Toddlers are more independent and often potty trained, but there is something about the wonder of watching a baby recognize your face.

Be it a toddler or a baby, we can all agree on one thing.  They are driven on finding new and innovative ways to kill themselves. Hmm, what's this, a teeny tiny lego?  I'm pretty sure I can choke on it, let's find out, he seems to say.  Well, I'll be.  An electrical socket.  That's the perfect size for my fingers, she appears to ponder. I'm glad they feel safe and secure in their environment that they want to explore, but could they not explore what a plastic bag over their head? I feel like I should set up a crisis hotline with some of their toy cell phones. "Mr. Jonah, please don't hang up. Stay with me, I need to know why your life is not worth living after you spotted Mr. Potato Head in pieces".
Perhaps one day we can figure out what goes on in their minds, but until then, I'm just going to eat a box of Girl Scout cookies to relieve my anxiety.

An Actor's Agony

  It's agony.  This is agony right here.  Like I know the outcome.  I have decided I am truly god, I am one with the universe, I can see the future and I know the facts.  I know my place in the world.  And all I want is that sweet sweet rejection letter to come, to tell me that I didn't make it, but thanks for coming out, be sure to apply next time!
Like that would be heaven right there.  Outright rejection would be delightful, not this grueling, Chinese water torture style of waiting.  Each hour that goes by, each click of the refresher button on my email, each eager glance at my phone when it vibrates, is another slow step into hell.  No, not hell.  Hell would be a delicious beach, a fruit ripe with juiciness. Nay, this is limbo.  This is a place where hope and failure come to hump like rabbits and produce abundant bi polar offspring:  Yes, you made it! This is a sign that they want you! No, you didn't! They don't want you and worse, they forgot you.  When they told everyone that they would inform people either way, they murmured "Except her.  Not this girl in the front with the desperate look of desire in her eyes.  Get her out of here".  
All I'm saying is this:  When Patrick Henry asked for liberty or death, like, they responded promptly. That's all I'm saying.

The Nanny Monologues

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of all involved



Katherine:

The last day I had with Robert was a paradox of emotions.  It had elements of the boring routine combined with extreme loss and bitter regret all at once.  You know the feeling on the last day of school, when your body is used to all the familiar sensations, but it hasn't quite caught up with your brain, and your brain is continuously reminding your body "OK, this is it.  This won't be the same ever again.  Get ready.  Prepare for this.  Are you prepared?" It was like that.  I fed him lunch, we went to the park, I reminded him that he couldn't just fling sand in the air, we did all the fun things that three year olds enjoy but will never remember.

For the last month or two, I tried to tell him what was going to happen.  I'd say "Ok Robert, I love you and will always love you. But you're going to go on a new adventure, and I am too. You're moving to a new state! Yay! You'll be going to a different place, but I will always think of you and be so grateful we got a chance to meet and play together" And he'd say something touching and meaningful in response, something like "You be a kitty now Kathy, ok?" which I would translate as "I know Kathy.  Shut up about it so we can live in the moment and enjoy a game of pretend".

Then last week I saw she left her day calendar out on the kitchen counter.  I saw it and expected to see dates scrawled in there about calling movers or flight schedules.  Nothing.  There was nothing.

I wish she had just told me what I did.

So now it's 6:00 and it's time for me to go.  She already has his favorite TV show turned on so she doesn't have to be bothered by him when I leave.  I give Robert a hug and the husband, sentimental fool that he is, is about to cry for me.  I hear her yell sharply from the other room "DON'T MAKE A SCENE!" It's directed at him, but my heart takes the hit anyway.  I smile and wave goodbye like I'll see him tomorrow.

The hardest thing is when you get attached and become the thing that the three year old enjoyed but will never remember.  But hey, he knows the word please now because of me.  And how to dance. So maybe we left little foot prints on each other's hearts that no amount of jealousy or time can take away.  That's gotta mean something, right?

Feminism and Me and How You Are Screwing It Up

Yes, in case you were wondering, I am a Feminist.  Even more shocking, I actually knew what that word meant before checking Wikipedia.  My mother taught me at an early age, and my dad backed her up, that we are currently living in a man's world.  We naturally assume in America that the next president is going to be a middle aged man.  We go to the movies and nine times out of ten the protagonist will be a man.  There will possibly be a woman or two in that movie, and one or both will be the romantic love interest of that man.  Women are still receiving less money for doing the same amount of work as a man.  Women are frequently objectified in the media in ridiculous and demeaning ways that men are not.  If men are similarly objectified as women are, then it becomes humorous. Most women I know have an instinctual fear or cautious nature when they are walking alone at night.  I believe most men have that same cautious instinct, but I also believe that men aren't primarily concerned with being molested or raped on their walk home.

This treatment does not seem equal to me.  Feminism is the idea that everyone is treated equally, regardless of gender. It baffles me that this seemingly obvious definition is still receiving such negative connotations after all these years.

Naturally we fear what we don't know.  Over the years I've heard scared groups of people or individual persons label feminists as something less than: Butch Lesbians, Dykes, Feminazis, the list goes on and on.  I've become used to this. Anyone desperate enough to resort to name calling is just a confirmation that we are doing something right.  However, those fears and slurs have usually been voiced by a group of guys.  What's truly frightening is now I'm hearing these words come from the mouths of GIRLS.

Teenage girls and young women in their twenties are denouncing feminism and declaring that they don't need it because they "are not a victim".  OK, I get it. These children believe they don't need feminism because to them, the problem is solved. To some extent, it is slightly true.  I do not need a man to rent or own property.  I can vote. I can wear pants. That's all great, but don't you want more? Wouldn't it be nice to have your commercials, TV shows, plays, magazines, books, billboards, radio, press, retail stores, and movies NOT dictating how you should look and how you have no value if you aren't physically appealing to the opposite sex? Wouldn't it be wonderful to have the freedom to have a say in your body and have your own personal choice in contraception without your employers involved?  The idea that feminists are crying out for justice because they are just whiny and haven't taken control of their lives is horrifying to me.  If we rest on our laurels and declare that we are done because have come so far, we will slip right back to where we are.  We are already starting to and I for one, refuse to slide back.

It is my personal belief that we do not have to punish or lower another group down to raise us up. That to me is not true equality.  There are injustices that men suffer as well: they must hide emotions that are not related to anger or dominance, they too have clothing restrictions and impossible body standards, they can't have eating disorders or be considered rape victims if their attacker is a woman, etc. Feminism supports male equality too. I will not change the name or try to excuse myself when I say I'm a Feminist.  It's not morphing into a different goal or entity.  I stand by it and I am proud of it.  I have no problems explaining what it means and if you have a person in your life that listens to misinformed pop stars trying to explain feminism, steer them my way.  I will be happy to speak.  Because I have a right to speak today, due to all the incredibly hard work that past Feminists have done for me.

Babies vs.Toddlers or Permanent Suicide Watch

  One of the many questions I get asked when I reveal my profession is "So, which do you prefer, babies or older kids?"

I could be lying. It's entirely possible that no one has asked me that question, and I just need a way to start this blog. But it feels like this has been asked of me before.

In my first few years as a nanny I would have said older kids all the way. This is because my experience with babies was limited to a few terrifying moments when an aunt would see me appropriately enchanted by their newborn and breathlessly ask, "Do you wanna hold him/her?" And I would nod numbly like a person agreeing to buy Girl Scout cookies: You really don't want to, but you'd feel like a complete ass if you say no. Honestly, no I do not want to hold your baby. Unlike a box of Girl Scout cookies, it's really hard to buy another if I drop it. And I would be firmly convinced that somehow, in the time it takes to transfer your miraculous bundle of love into my arms, the Crisco fairy would hop along and just coat my limbs with the stuff and BAM!  Shame and dishonor on my whole family, soul, and life. Have I actually ever dropped a baby? Well, no, but fear is more tangible than reality. As time passed I became more comfortable with infants. I started to really like working with them. Yes, you have to change diapers and you must be prepared to wear their lunch. If they are teething then God have mercy on your soul, but nothing will make you feel more accomplished faster than successfully changing that diaper, getting at least one spoonful of winter squash in their mouth, and running like hell out the door when your shift is over (because I'm sorry, nothing compares to the horror that is teething). Toddlers are more independent and often potty trained, but there is something about the wonder of watching a baby recognize your face.

Be it a toddler or a baby, we can all agree on one thing.  They are driven on finding new and innovative ways to kill themselves. Hmm, what's this, a teeny tiny lego?  I'm pretty sure I can choke on it, let's find out, he seems to say.  Well, I'll be.  An electrical socket.  That's the perfect size for my fingers, she appears to ponder. I'm glad they feel safe and secure in their environment that they want to explore, but could they not explore what a plastic bag over their head? I feel like I should set up a crisis hotline with some of their toy cell phones. "Mr. Jonah, please don't hang up. Stay with me, I need to know why your life is not worth living after you spotted Mr. Potato Head in pieces".
Perhaps one day we can figure out what goes on in their minds, but until then, I'm just going to eat a box of Girl Scout cookies to relieve my anxiety.  

I shall stay until the wind changes

As an On Call Nanny, I am responsible for showing up when your plan A for child care has failed.  It is perfectly normal for me not to have any clue what my work schedule is like for the week, but I always get forty hours, and sometimes more.  What happens is I'll get a text from my agency, saying they have a case for me for a) tomorrow b) for the next two weeks with the same family c) in three hours or d) all of the above.  I'll confirm via text, and then receive an email telling me where the family lives, parents' numbers, how many kids and their ages.  I'll call the family to confirm the appointment, and then go from there.

All of the families work for Microsoft.  Welcome to Seattle!  Sometimes it's Google, occasionally I get a Verizon, but rest assured, it's going to be Microsoft.  I will later learn that if you work a certain amount of hours at Microsoft, they in turn give their employees a certain amount of hours per month to hook them up with nannies from our well established agency.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you've heard correctly:  I am a perk.

Sometimes I'm needed because the regular nanny is on vacation.  Other times it's the child's break from school and the parents still need to go to work.  Most often it's because the parents, whom usually work at home, have to go to the office for a conference or meeting. Whatever the reason, I am here to be the substitute Mary Poppins.  In the space of five minutes, I have to learn the daily routine, where the silverware is kept (WHY is it kept there?  That makes no sense to the flow of the kitchen!) what they like at nap time, and what their favorite toy is.

Personally, this is right up my alley.  I love new things and meeting people, so the spontaneity of the job is perfect.  Each day is like a box of chocolates:  I never know what I'm going to get:  a playful two year old who will spend hours on his train set?  I'm there. European babies who's books are all in Hebrew?  Awesome.  A 7 year old girl who will paint fairies and ask me if I am married?  Why not?  I love kids, and getting to play with them all day, while keeping them healthy and happy, almost sounds too lovely to be true.  AND I get health benefits and paid vacations?

The downside is this:  You have to leave them.  For the one dayers, this isn't so bad.  It's like a great first date:  You go, you have a great time, and you leave, not sure if you'll get that call back, but still happy you went and had the experience.  When you're contracted to be with them for a week, two weeks, a month, two months, that's when it gets really hard.  You get to know them.  You can recognize when they're getting sleepy, they start to recognize you when you come back the next day, they look sad when you leave, they fall asleep in your arms.  Just now I've finished working with a toddler for about a week.  When I left, she threw her whole body into mine for a hug and gave me a bunch of little kisses on my cheek.  And who knows if I'll ever see her again?  You have to give enough time to mourn, and then move on.  Take what you can and leave the rest.  And when you're flying away on your sweet ass umbrella, don't look back.