When I first became a nanny, little Annabelle would wear her swim goggles when she wanted to look like me in my glasses. She was totally adorable, and I have this awesome photo of her using lotion and a baby wipe to "clean" the mirror, wearing a really cute little dress, leggings, and swim goggles. She was two at the time. GB wears HIS goggles when he's riding his motorcycle.
I've always secretly wanted to ride motorcycles. Okay, so it hasn't been much of a secret... but I don't tend to bring it up because a lot of my friends just wouldn't understand. And some women have insisted that I should want to ride my OWN motorcycle-- but what I really want is to ride behind somebody else on theirs. Preferably, somebody I'd be comfortable hugging for long periods of time. All the fun, none of the responsibility.
With this background, you might understand why I was rather excited to start dating a guy who rides. Except that he'd recently hurt his thumb (motorcycle accident), and couldn't... So even though we've been dating for a couple of months now, I have yet to take my first motorcycle ride. Maybe it's just not meant to be.
...But I'm still hoping.
Yesterday, we took the bike (he rode it, I drove behind just in case) to a repair shop for estimates. First time I've had opportunity to watch someone ride a bike for any period of time. Usually when I start to show interest in a motorcycle on the road, the rider tries to pick me up, so I've learned NOT to oogle strange motorcycle riders. sigh. But GB was fair game, and it took us a good 20 minutes to get where we were going. It totally whetted my appetite to ride all over again.
The funny thing is that he was in SUCH a better mood after his ride. I've got to convince that boy to either ride his bike or go for workouts in the gym on a regular basis. I much prefer him happy. I cannot, however, tell you whether or not he looks adorable in HIS goggles-- he forgot to wear them yesterday. It took some doing, but I finally convinced him to wear my sunglasses for the trip home, since it was a very sunny day, and the goggles are, apparently, tinted. BOYS!!! sigh...
Showing posts with label child care. Show all posts
Showing posts with label child care. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11
Monday, January 21
...And then it was gone...
No shigt, there I was. Trying really hard to be loving and fun, and trying even harder not to laugh at something that shouldn't be encouraged... two days from the end to my second career as a nanny... with three hours of sleep under my belt, in freezing cold temperatures, in the middle of a move that included one car accident, (yes, the one you already heard about), one falsely advertised $19.99 for one day truck rental (try $69 plus gas), two parents, three sick friends, one person's first experience with a frozen pizza, a freaked out psycho cat, and a highly efficient group of people who could not believe that I didn't really want EVERYPOSSIBLETHING to get moved in one go...
When suddenly, the "Stinky Bum Brigade Truck" ran through the house, and it's little boy engine sounds like this: "PPTTHhhhhhhbbbbtttttt".... I had no idea there was such a brigade, but let me tell you that if ever there was, it definitely started and ended in a house full of diapers and solid foods, and it sounded just like that. And... well... I hope that little boy learns some spit-control in his fart noises, or else starts handing out napkins to innocent bystanders when he pretends to be this one particular vehicle. That particular engine noise looks and feels every bit as juicy as it sounds.
And in that moment of complete deadstop when I learned about the Stinky Bum Brigade Truck, and my mind went "...uhhhh...", I realized how very lucky I am. How many people can say they have six friends in one town who would come to their house on a cold day to help them move, while suffering from major head colds, sore throats, thrown out backs, and sundry other commitments and challenges-- and who would still love them after realizing just how "creatively organized" the packing job had so far been.
Then the moment was over, and I discovered that the youngest has added yet another word to her growing vocabulary. "toot" And a new song (my fault, actually, but I learned long ago that the trick to easy diaper changes is to distract-- so I sing, and encourage toy-handling and other sundry oddities during diaper duty)... I think it originally was a few bars out of the Music Man musical... "shee-poopy, shee-poopy, shee-poopy".... but it's just so darn appropriate sometimes!
I think I need to start spending more time with adults.
When suddenly, the "Stinky Bum Brigade Truck" ran through the house, and it's little boy engine sounds like this: "PPTTHhhhhhhbbbbtttttt".... I had no idea there was such a brigade, but let me tell you that if ever there was, it definitely started and ended in a house full of diapers and solid foods, and it sounded just like that. And... well... I hope that little boy learns some spit-control in his fart noises, or else starts handing out napkins to innocent bystanders when he pretends to be this one particular vehicle. That particular engine noise looks and feels every bit as juicy as it sounds.
And in that moment of complete deadstop when I learned about the Stinky Bum Brigade Truck, and my mind went "...uhhhh...", I realized how very lucky I am. How many people can say they have six friends in one town who would come to their house on a cold day to help them move, while suffering from major head colds, sore throats, thrown out backs, and sundry other commitments and challenges-- and who would still love them after realizing just how "creatively organized" the packing job had so far been.
Then the moment was over, and I discovered that the youngest has added yet another word to her growing vocabulary. "toot" And a new song (my fault, actually, but I learned long ago that the trick to easy diaper changes is to distract-- so I sing, and encourage toy-handling and other sundry oddities during diaper duty)... I think it originally was a few bars out of the Music Man musical... "shee-poopy, shee-poopy, shee-poopy".... but it's just so darn appropriate sometimes!
I think I need to start spending more time with adults.
Wednesday, September 26
Moonrise over the DoubleDribble
It's been an exciting 24 hours.
I haven't spotted the hidden cameras yet, but I know they're out there filming away, with glee in their hearts and laughter on their lips. I guess it's a good thing they aren't paying me. I don't think they could pay me enough to have these experiences on purpose.
The little boy I nanny (age 2.5) has discovered what stoplights are for, and that different kinds of vehicles have "names." So he is, at the age of 2.5, becoming an accomplished back seat driver. He also pretends to be a loud, fast, red "Thord" Truck (and boy is he LOUD and FAST when he plays truck!!!). He also has noted that the front end of my car is "broken," and really feels that I should get it fixed. I know because he now brings it up on a regular basis. Like every five minutes. I agree with him. And as soon as I have an extra $1,100 lying around, I will go right out and do that, if only to change the subject.
Driving home last night (after a longer than usual work day-- usual being 10 hours, plus driving), I tried to open a new bottle of water by squeezing it between my legs so I could drive with one hand and twist the lid with the other. This resulted in a geyser-like fountain of cold water soaking my pants and car seat-- RIGHT THERE-- and feeling really odd all the way home. Except first I had to walk into the library and pick up a bunch of books on hold. And greet my coworkers. All while pretending that it didn't really look like I just peed my pants.
It felt like a wet bathing suit about an hour after you get out of the pool, only the rest of me was fully clothed and perfectly dry. And let me tell you, undies take a fugging long time to dry, and hours-old wet bathing suits are COLD!!!
Of course, this was also the night that I had to drive straight to the unnamed library from work so that I could pick up the books I was supposed to have read for the Inservice I attended all day today. I got there 15 minutes before the library closed, and both books I needed were in. Of course, I got home around 8:30pm, and was just so hungry and exhausted that I only read one of the books. Unfortunately, it was not the one they actually remembered to ask me to give a presentation on at the Inservice today. Yeah-- THAT was the book I DIDN'T read.
Luckily, on my way past the exit I would normally take to go HOME from work, sitting in my soggy and rather hysterical state of exhaustion, with Kid Rock playing thumpily about cowboys in the background, I noticed the moon. A full moon. A harvest moon. Rising over the edge of a distant hill, right next to the snowy top of some awesome mountain or other. They were actually about the same size. Immense and breath-taking. And the whole view was framed between two much closer foothills. I knew I had my camera in the car. I just couldn't find it.
...Until about 20 minutes later when I was at a stoplight about 10 minutes away from the unnamed library. That's when I found the camera, and finally managed to take a picture of this gorgeous glowing full moon...
And this morning, as I spoke with the financial aid office about why I STILL don't have my student loan money, but have received ten letters about how they plan to give it to me in the near future, I downloaded the photo onto my computer. There she was. The most beautiful full moon I've seen in quite a while. Rising majestically into the clear sky over the Double Dribble bar. Sigh...
That's when Student Aid finally informed me that they'd sent my student loan checks out two weeks ago-- to my old address that I haven't lived at for over a year. And to compound it all, I got home from a full day of training today (on how to be an effective Youth Librarian), only to find an email from Student Aid informing me that ALL of my student loan checks have now been canceled and reissued. Even the ones I received a year ago and deposited and used up.
....man.... I wish I kept hard alcohol in the house! And unbidden came the thought...
"I'll bet the Double Dribble has some."
I haven't spotted the hidden cameras yet, but I know they're out there filming away, with glee in their hearts and laughter on their lips. I guess it's a good thing they aren't paying me. I don't think they could pay me enough to have these experiences on purpose.
The little boy I nanny (age 2.5) has discovered what stoplights are for, and that different kinds of vehicles have "names." So he is, at the age of 2.5, becoming an accomplished back seat driver. He also pretends to be a loud, fast, red "Thord" Truck (and boy is he LOUD and FAST when he plays truck!!!). He also has noted that the front end of my car is "broken," and really feels that I should get it fixed. I know because he now brings it up on a regular basis. Like every five minutes. I agree with him. And as soon as I have an extra $1,100 lying around, I will go right out and do that, if only to change the subject.
Driving home last night (after a longer than usual work day-- usual being 10 hours, plus driving), I tried to open a new bottle of water by squeezing it between my legs so I could drive with one hand and twist the lid with the other. This resulted in a geyser-like fountain of cold water soaking my pants and car seat-- RIGHT THERE-- and feeling really odd all the way home. Except first I had to walk into the library and pick up a bunch of books on hold. And greet my coworkers. All while pretending that it didn't really look like I just peed my pants.
It felt like a wet bathing suit about an hour after you get out of the pool, only the rest of me was fully clothed and perfectly dry. And let me tell you, undies take a fugging long time to dry, and hours-old wet bathing suits are COLD!!!
Of course, this was also the night that I had to drive straight to the unnamed library from work so that I could pick up the books I was supposed to have read for the Inservice I attended all day today. I got there 15 minutes before the library closed, and both books I needed were in. Of course, I got home around 8:30pm, and was just so hungry and exhausted that I only read one of the books. Unfortunately, it was not the one they actually remembered to ask me to give a presentation on at the Inservice today. Yeah-- THAT was the book I DIDN'T read.
Luckily, on my way past the exit I would normally take to go HOME from work, sitting in my soggy and rather hysterical state of exhaustion, with Kid Rock playing thumpily about cowboys in the background, I noticed the moon. A full moon. A harvest moon. Rising over the edge of a distant hill, right next to the snowy top of some awesome mountain or other. They were actually about the same size. Immense and breath-taking. And the whole view was framed between two much closer foothills. I knew I had my camera in the car. I just couldn't find it.
...Until about 20 minutes later when I was at a stoplight about 10 minutes away from the unnamed library. That's when I found the camera, and finally managed to take a picture of this gorgeous glowing full moon...
And this morning, as I spoke with the financial aid office about why I STILL don't have my student loan money, but have received ten letters about how they plan to give it to me in the near future, I downloaded the photo onto my computer. There she was. The most beautiful full moon I've seen in quite a while. Rising majestically into the clear sky over the Double Dribble bar. Sigh...
That's when Student Aid finally informed me that they'd sent my student loan checks out two weeks ago-- to my old address that I haven't lived at for over a year. And to compound it all, I got home from a full day of training today (on how to be an effective Youth Librarian), only to find an email from Student Aid informing me that ALL of my student loan checks have now been canceled and reissued. Even the ones I received a year ago and deposited and used up.
....man.... I wish I kept hard alcohol in the house! And unbidden came the thought...
"I'll bet the Double Dribble has some."
Friday, August 10
The Ono Fish
Ummm... so, yeah, it was my birthday yesterday. My goal was to spend a few hours in meditation, thinking about who I am and what I'm doing. It felt like an appropriate time to be doing that. Instead, what seems to have happened, is that I was aware of the way I spent my time during the day. I really thought about what I'm doing with my life in a more "here and now" sense-- because "what I'm doing with my life" isn't about my goals-- it's about each day lived.
And I realized that I get to read books to little kids who smile at me and like to hold conversations with me-- and who are already learning (at the age of 2) how cool the "libbery" can be. I'm very proud of that. I feel it's time well-spent, for all my complaining about the long hours. I realized that filling and emptying the dishwasher is a fact of life, and I posted a quote from one of my favorite blogs--
"Cleaning isn't just an obligation. It's also a way to honor your life, a way to show yourself you're worth that much effort. ...I'm working on that one."
It made me stop and think about all the ways you can honor your life, and how I'm not doing any of them right now. And I decided that I actually am worth the effort, and I actually do want to honor my life. And if that means putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher every day, then I can do that. And if that means running the a/c for a few minutes so I can brew a cup of tea on a hot day, then I can do that.
And if that means taking the time to finally look up the name/location of a women's shelter so I can donate the rest of the stuff I've decided to get rid of to them instead of Goodwill, and TAKING THE TIME TO DROP THE STUFF OFF THERE, then I can do that, too. I want the file cabinet out of my entry way. I deserve to walk into my apartment without running into things, tripping on things, or knocking things over.
And then I went to one of my favorite stores to meet my family for dinner. I found out that my all-time favorite candle that only they carry and that lasts 50 hours, and has never dripped and made a wax puddle on my floor or my table, and that doesn't smoke, and doesn't tip over, and is just PERFECT because it only costs $5... well, they've discontinued making it. But the nice helper-lady looked at other stores and found 15 of them for me at other stores, and they're being shipped to my home. I figured if this is my last chance to get ahold of my favorite candle, I'm not messing around. Of all the candles I've ever bought, this is the one I keep lighting.
And dinner with my mom, papa, and aunt was great. I had the opportunity to realize that where I come from is a part of who I am. And I finally had a group of people who all go whole-hog with Ottohumor and there was no one there to roll their eyes and be disgusted with us for deciding that hero-ono fish was a super hero who changed his mind, fell (o-no!), and sorta splatted into the water... well, you get the picture. It was fun to be a family for a bit.
And then I got home and had time for myself. That was interesting, too. I was so tired after working ten hours and having quality social time for two hours after that... the one thing that really rose out of my quiet time is that I'm about to be done with school. I'm about to emerge into the world of self-supporting professionals. And in many ways, it will be a rebirth for me. A whole new start in the world, with new goals and new priorities and new lessons to learn. I'm really looking forward to that.
For now, though, I'm going to move through my day with joy, and spend time with good friends. I can't think of a better gift to start my new year than that.
And I realized that I get to read books to little kids who smile at me and like to hold conversations with me-- and who are already learning (at the age of 2) how cool the "libbery" can be. I'm very proud of that. I feel it's time well-spent, for all my complaining about the long hours. I realized that filling and emptying the dishwasher is a fact of life, and I posted a quote from one of my favorite blogs--
"Cleaning isn't just an obligation. It's also a way to honor your life, a way to show yourself you're worth that much effort. ...I'm working on that one."
It made me stop and think about all the ways you can honor your life, and how I'm not doing any of them right now. And I decided that I actually am worth the effort, and I actually do want to honor my life. And if that means putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher every day, then I can do that. And if that means running the a/c for a few minutes so I can brew a cup of tea on a hot day, then I can do that.
And if that means taking the time to finally look up the name/location of a women's shelter so I can donate the rest of the stuff I've decided to get rid of to them instead of Goodwill, and TAKING THE TIME TO DROP THE STUFF OFF THERE, then I can do that, too. I want the file cabinet out of my entry way. I deserve to walk into my apartment without running into things, tripping on things, or knocking things over.
And then I went to one of my favorite stores to meet my family for dinner. I found out that my all-time favorite candle that only they carry and that lasts 50 hours, and has never dripped and made a wax puddle on my floor or my table, and that doesn't smoke, and doesn't tip over, and is just PERFECT because it only costs $5... well, they've discontinued making it. But the nice helper-lady looked at other stores and found 15 of them for me at other stores, and they're being shipped to my home. I figured if this is my last chance to get ahold of my favorite candle, I'm not messing around. Of all the candles I've ever bought, this is the one I keep lighting.
And dinner with my mom, papa, and aunt was great. I had the opportunity to realize that where I come from is a part of who I am. And I finally had a group of people who all go whole-hog with Ottohumor and there was no one there to roll their eyes and be disgusted with us for deciding that hero-ono fish was a super hero who changed his mind, fell (o-no!), and sorta splatted into the water... well, you get the picture. It was fun to be a family for a bit.
And then I got home and had time for myself. That was interesting, too. I was so tired after working ten hours and having quality social time for two hours after that... the one thing that really rose out of my quiet time is that I'm about to be done with school. I'm about to emerge into the world of self-supporting professionals. And in many ways, it will be a rebirth for me. A whole new start in the world, with new goals and new priorities and new lessons to learn. I'm really looking forward to that.
For now, though, I'm going to move through my day with joy, and spend time with good friends. I can't think of a better gift to start my new year than that.
Thursday, June 7
The Baby Has Oomph
So... Did you know that Mono is one of those illnesses that most people only get once-- and then they develop an immunity to it? Did you know that some people are carriers-- and that you are just as likely to catch Mono by going to the movies (or whatever) as by being in a room with someone who is sick with it? And that by the time you reach the age of 35, there is a 95% probability that you have already developed immunity to the illness, and therefore don't really run any big risks by being around someone with Mono.
Not only that, but it is called a "kissing disease" for good reason-- you have to ingest/inhale the spit droplets from someone kissing or sneezing or coughing on you to actually be EXPOSED to it in the first place. In my experience, I've been exposed to Mono. Repeatedly. And as my costar recently reminded me, our college was that kind of an academic environment where people succumbed to stress, got horribly sick, and still went to class out of fear of falling behind. So even without the wave of Mono that hit my high school Junior year, I've definitely been exposed.
With all that in mind... I'm currently taking care of a 2.5 year old boy with a very bad case of Mono. And his little sister, who (much to my surprise) is nearly ten months old already. He doesn't know how to cover his mouth when he coughs. He doesn't like these early nap-times we keep forcing him to take-- and is so stubborn that sometimes he WON'T SLEEP even though he is falling over when he walks because he's so tired. He also doesn't understand why (now that he's home from the hospital and obviously improving in health-- though he'll be contagious for something like six weeks or more) the world no longer revolves around his every whim. What-- no s'moors power bar for breakfast? What-- you are actually sending me to the time-out chair for whining repeatedly and taking a toy away from my little sister?? You haven't done that in WEEKS! ...sigh...
And yesterday... yesterday was the pivotal day when everyone finally got fed up with everything. That day when you've been under such stress for so long that now, finally, you can relax, and therefore the grumps hit. The WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE SO DIFFICULT-- I JUST NEED SOME TIME OFF FROM EVERYTHING, DAMMIT part of the recovery process. And it hit the whole family at once. Even the baby.
Until yesterday, I never knew it was possible to get bigtched out by a baby. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, it happened a lot. And it was really funny-- when I remembered to take deep breaths, because I was so frustrated by her determination to have it all go HER WAY, BECAUSE SHE KNEW SHE DESERVED IT, AND SHE WAS GOING TO GET IT, DAMMIT! She would scrunch her little face up into a determined and grumpy prune, and just dare me not to help her get what she was going for at that moment (mostly, to be in my arms, playing with the toy her brother was holding). And if she didn't get what she felt was her due at that moment, she'd let loose the "come to jesus" scream. Even some big crocodile tears, and a discontented bounce or two. I tell you, that baby has OOMPH!
Already I can tell that her parents will have to invest in some serious therapy once she reaches teen-hood. Therapy for them. And I also think she'll be an awesome adult: strong, independent, determined. Just like her mom.
Not only that, but it is called a "kissing disease" for good reason-- you have to ingest/inhale the spit droplets from someone kissing or sneezing or coughing on you to actually be EXPOSED to it in the first place. In my experience, I've been exposed to Mono. Repeatedly. And as my costar recently reminded me, our college was that kind of an academic environment where people succumbed to stress, got horribly sick, and still went to class out of fear of falling behind. So even without the wave of Mono that hit my high school Junior year, I've definitely been exposed.
With all that in mind... I'm currently taking care of a 2.5 year old boy with a very bad case of Mono. And his little sister, who (much to my surprise) is nearly ten months old already. He doesn't know how to cover his mouth when he coughs. He doesn't like these early nap-times we keep forcing him to take-- and is so stubborn that sometimes he WON'T SLEEP even though he is falling over when he walks because he's so tired. He also doesn't understand why (now that he's home from the hospital and obviously improving in health-- though he'll be contagious for something like six weeks or more) the world no longer revolves around his every whim. What-- no s'moors power bar for breakfast? What-- you are actually sending me to the time-out chair for whining repeatedly and taking a toy away from my little sister?? You haven't done that in WEEKS! ...sigh...
And yesterday... yesterday was the pivotal day when everyone finally got fed up with everything. That day when you've been under such stress for so long that now, finally, you can relax, and therefore the grumps hit. The WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE SO DIFFICULT-- I JUST NEED SOME TIME OFF FROM EVERYTHING, DAMMIT part of the recovery process. And it hit the whole family at once. Even the baby.
Until yesterday, I never knew it was possible to get bigtched out by a baby. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, it happened a lot. And it was really funny-- when I remembered to take deep breaths, because I was so frustrated by her determination to have it all go HER WAY, BECAUSE SHE KNEW SHE DESERVED IT, AND SHE WAS GOING TO GET IT, DAMMIT! She would scrunch her little face up into a determined and grumpy prune, and just dare me not to help her get what she was going for at that moment (mostly, to be in my arms, playing with the toy her brother was holding). And if she didn't get what she felt was her due at that moment, she'd let loose the "come to jesus" scream. Even some big crocodile tears, and a discontented bounce or two. I tell you, that baby has OOMPH!
Already I can tell that her parents will have to invest in some serious therapy once she reaches teen-hood. Therapy for them. And I also think she'll be an awesome adult: strong, independent, determined. Just like her mom.
Friday, February 9
How To:
How to have a really quality pity party...
Step 1) Don't invite anyone. Not only do you not want witnesses, but you also don't want the possibility of having someone cheer you up. That is NOT the point of a pity party. Unplug your phone, too. There's nothing like being interrupted by Mom in the middle of a really good pout.
Step 2) Pick a good day for your party-- like Mother's Day if you don't have kids, or Earth Day if you live in a big stinky city... I picked early February because I'm single, not currently dating anyone, and those damn pink-and-red displays are EVERY-FUGGING-WHERE!!
Step 3) Stop at the store on your way home from work on the day of the party. If you've had a really shittastrophic day at work, and are coming home later than usual, so much the better. While at the store, assume an expression that says, "If you bother me, I will hurt you, and then I will cry." Try to look as wan as possible while wandering aimlessly through the store. It helps if you forget to grab a cart, too. Grab whatever you think will make you feel better, and don't forget the magazine aisle, the jewelry counter, the fuzzy PJ's, the freezer section, the candy aisles, the wine and beer section, the specialty cheeses, something really garlicky, and the food. Allow yourself to feel even more depressed by the gargantuan bill at the cash register-- you just blew half your rent money, isn't that great!
Step 4) Make sure you haven't gotten enough sleep for several nights in a row. This adds to the drama and anxiety necessary for a truly successful pity party. Personally, I just worked a ten hour day (plus an hour's drive time on each end), I smell and feel like melon-orange baby poo-- there may even be some on my socks, and I haven't slept more than five or six hours a night for about two weeks now, courtesy of my delightful little kitty cat, who thinks 4am is WAY too late for anyone to be in bed-- especially when they could be petting her! (And she has been ignoring my usual methods of saying "no" between the hours of 2-5am... like throwing shoes and yelling unintelligibly.)
Step 5) When you get home, put on a sexy top-- preferably with a pithy saying on it, and then pull your hair back in one of those clips that leaves lots of weird strands sticking up at the back of your head, and straggling oily wisps sticking to your forehead. That way, when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you can feel both depressed that you can look that good and still not be getting any and, conversely, be depressed at how un-sexy you look even when you 'try.' Remember, you still smell like baby poo anyway. (My sexy tank top says "ALLRIGHTYTHEN" on it, and has lace straps.)
Step 6) Finally, put the most corny romance movie you can get your hands on in your DVD player, and crank up the volume. Maybe, if you're lucky, your cute young neighbors will be so annoyed by this that they will actually knock on your door to ask you to turn down that DRIVEL... and will thus get to see (and smell) you in all your self-pitying glory, and start to giggle uncontrollably. Wouldn't that just make your day complete?!
Any Questions?
STOP BOTHERING ME!! Just stand still for a minute while I cock my fist... and grab a kleenex... sniff....sniff... You ASSOLE! Who invited you, anyway?! (Thanks, I actually feel much better now.)
Step 1) Don't invite anyone. Not only do you not want witnesses, but you also don't want the possibility of having someone cheer you up. That is NOT the point of a pity party. Unplug your phone, too. There's nothing like being interrupted by Mom in the middle of a really good pout.
Step 2) Pick a good day for your party-- like Mother's Day if you don't have kids, or Earth Day if you live in a big stinky city... I picked early February because I'm single, not currently dating anyone, and those damn pink-and-red displays are EVERY-FUGGING-WHERE!!
Step 3) Stop at the store on your way home from work on the day of the party. If you've had a really shittastrophic day at work, and are coming home later than usual, so much the better. While at the store, assume an expression that says, "If you bother me, I will hurt you, and then I will cry." Try to look as wan as possible while wandering aimlessly through the store. It helps if you forget to grab a cart, too. Grab whatever you think will make you feel better, and don't forget the magazine aisle, the jewelry counter, the fuzzy PJ's, the freezer section, the candy aisles, the wine and beer section, the specialty cheeses, something really garlicky, and the food. Allow yourself to feel even more depressed by the gargantuan bill at the cash register-- you just blew half your rent money, isn't that great!
Step 4) Make sure you haven't gotten enough sleep for several nights in a row. This adds to the drama and anxiety necessary for a truly successful pity party. Personally, I just worked a ten hour day (plus an hour's drive time on each end), I smell and feel like melon-orange baby poo-- there may even be some on my socks, and I haven't slept more than five or six hours a night for about two weeks now, courtesy of my delightful little kitty cat, who thinks 4am is WAY too late for anyone to be in bed-- especially when they could be petting her! (And she has been ignoring my usual methods of saying "no" between the hours of 2-5am... like throwing shoes and yelling unintelligibly.)
Step 5) When you get home, put on a sexy top-- preferably with a pithy saying on it, and then pull your hair back in one of those clips that leaves lots of weird strands sticking up at the back of your head, and straggling oily wisps sticking to your forehead. That way, when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you can feel both depressed that you can look that good and still not be getting any and, conversely, be depressed at how un-sexy you look even when you 'try.' Remember, you still smell like baby poo anyway. (My sexy tank top says "ALLRIGHTYTHEN" on it, and has lace straps.)
Step 6) Finally, put the most corny romance movie you can get your hands on in your DVD player, and crank up the volume. Maybe, if you're lucky, your cute young neighbors will be so annoyed by this that they will actually knock on your door to ask you to turn down that DRIVEL... and will thus get to see (and smell) you in all your self-pitying glory, and start to giggle uncontrollably. Wouldn't that just make your day complete?!
Any Questions?
STOP BOTHERING ME!! Just stand still for a minute while I cock my fist... and grab a kleenex... sniff....sniff... You ASSOLE! Who invited you, anyway?! (Thanks, I actually feel much better now.)
Thursday, January 18
What Animal Are You?
I had a moment today at work. Two, actually. One moment of trying very hard not to break out with a fit of insane giggles, and one of real brain-pain. You see, I'm a nanny. And one of the children I work with is about 2 years old. Not all that funny or mentally taxing, as far as it goes... Which, if you've ever been alone with a 2 year old for more than five minutes, you know isn't very far-- they are hilarous, and they make you go through all sorts of painful mental hoops!
But you see... We were reading a book about "Senses" together-- Pooh and his friends give examples of hearing, of seeing, etc... Well, we'd read the book three times that day already, so the fourth time... I started asking my little 2 year old to tell me what noises different animals in the book make... and we went from there... "What does a kitty cat sound like?" "I can make a sound like an ELEPHANT!" and so on-- right up until the moment when I said...
"I can sound like a COW!" Taken in an adult context, this is a really hilarious statement. And at that moment, that is how I heard myself-- as an adult, claiming to sound like a cow. Calling an woman a 'cow' is a real insult-- and talking like one isn't much better... but ADMITTING IT ABOUT YOURSELF-- now that's one I hadn't heard before! Of course, I was having a serious conversation with a 2 year old... so no laughing was allowed. Boy, was that tough! I think I almost swallowed my tongue.
And the brain-bending? Well, I operate in what I term "nanny-mode" when with small children. I automatically filter out of my consciousness and my vocabulary all inappropriate material-- no swear words, no sexual innuendo that would make your friends laugh, no slang (okay, not much slang), none of that, and a soft loving maternal voice on top! It's just not appropriate to be around children any other way... unless you have to use your "mommy voice." (If you own a pet, or have raised a child, you know what that voice is. It's the "don't argue with ME, young lady!! Your behavior is WRONG, and it is going to stop-- RIGHT NOW!" voice. Smart people--and pets-- heed the Mommy Voice.) It takes me a little while to get out of "nanny-mode," once I've been in it for a few hours... I can't just snap my fingers when I get off work, and be back to talking like a normal adult to other adults... I tend to use words like "dear" and "oopsy" and "I need to use the potty" and "all-better" if I try to hold a conversation with anyone right away. It gets me some really strange looks. A bit like that look you get when you sing along to the elevator music, and the door opens before you stop singing... (C'mon- admit it!)
Today, when I got into my car to drive home from work, the radio came on with the engine. The song was one I'm not a particular fan of, but that I've never been able to NOT sing along with when I heard it... and the chorus is something like... "yo-diggity, I wanna bag it up!" My brain just couldn't take singing along with that song (all about sex and slang and booty and all) while still being at least partly still in nanny-mode. Trying to have those two very different personas share space in my one little brain was just... painfully twisted. I spent a few minutes after that just sitting in the car, blinking, and trying to figure out what was right, what was wrong, and who the hell cared, anyway! Thank goodness I wasn't already driving when it happened. I'm not sure I'd have been able to pay attention the road for a minute or two there.
So, yeah, my day was probably not one you'd label "exciting!".... but it kept me amused.
But you see... We were reading a book about "Senses" together-- Pooh and his friends give examples of hearing, of seeing, etc... Well, we'd read the book three times that day already, so the fourth time... I started asking my little 2 year old to tell me what noises different animals in the book make... and we went from there... "What does a kitty cat sound like?" "I can make a sound like an ELEPHANT!" and so on-- right up until the moment when I said...
"I can sound like a COW!" Taken in an adult context, this is a really hilarious statement. And at that moment, that is how I heard myself-- as an adult, claiming to sound like a cow. Calling an woman a 'cow' is a real insult-- and talking like one isn't much better... but ADMITTING IT ABOUT YOURSELF-- now that's one I hadn't heard before! Of course, I was having a serious conversation with a 2 year old... so no laughing was allowed. Boy, was that tough! I think I almost swallowed my tongue.
And the brain-bending? Well, I operate in what I term "nanny-mode" when with small children. I automatically filter out of my consciousness and my vocabulary all inappropriate material-- no swear words, no sexual innuendo that would make your friends laugh, no slang (okay, not much slang), none of that, and a soft loving maternal voice on top! It's just not appropriate to be around children any other way... unless you have to use your "mommy voice." (If you own a pet, or have raised a child, you know what that voice is. It's the "don't argue with ME, young lady!! Your behavior is WRONG, and it is going to stop-- RIGHT NOW!" voice. Smart people--and pets-- heed the Mommy Voice.) It takes me a little while to get out of "nanny-mode," once I've been in it for a few hours... I can't just snap my fingers when I get off work, and be back to talking like a normal adult to other adults... I tend to use words like "dear" and "oopsy" and "I need to use the potty" and "all-better" if I try to hold a conversation with anyone right away. It gets me some really strange looks. A bit like that look you get when you sing along to the elevator music, and the door opens before you stop singing... (C'mon- admit it!)
Today, when I got into my car to drive home from work, the radio came on with the engine. The song was one I'm not a particular fan of, but that I've never been able to NOT sing along with when I heard it... and the chorus is something like... "yo-diggity, I wanna bag it up!" My brain just couldn't take singing along with that song (all about sex and slang and booty and all) while still being at least partly still in nanny-mode. Trying to have those two very different personas share space in my one little brain was just... painfully twisted. I spent a few minutes after that just sitting in the car, blinking, and trying to figure out what was right, what was wrong, and who the hell cared, anyway! Thank goodness I wasn't already driving when it happened. I'm not sure I'd have been able to pay attention the road for a minute or two there.
So, yeah, my day was probably not one you'd label "exciting!".... but it kept me amused.
Friday, December 29
New Beginnings
I don't do New Years Resolutions-- I do Life Altering Personal Commitments to Change. (aka LAPC2)
'Tis the season, and all that. If you were wondering about the alarm clock purchase and other of my personal resolves, Read On! If you wanted to know more about my friend's weird New Years traditions (or live in the South, and want to be sure she got them right)-- here is the link.
I have started a new job to compliment the new year. Or rather, I have returned to a job I once held, but in a new form and at a new place, and with a new appreciation. I'm a nanny-- possibly even an au pair! (Totally different designation, and parents appreciate you more because you are "educated" and/or "from overseas.") On the days I nanny, I have to get up at about 5am. It's a bit painful, as I haven't gotten used to my new schedule yet. I do, however, have a new alarm clock. The old alarm had two options- radio alarm (easy to sleep through, as I used to take naps to rock music in college), or sudden heart attack at 50 decibels. Ouch! On the good side of the scale, when I finally arrive at work, I get to cuddle a really cute baby, whose nick-name is "Pork Chop," and read happy books all day to a little boy who calls me "Spicy." (No relation to the pop band, thank you god.) I tell you, life is GOOD!
Apparently, they don't make the previously coveted light-brightening alarm clocks for the common masses anymore, though I SWEAR I saw one in the last "in-flight-magazine" I read. Of course... the items available for purchase in those ridiculous magazines are not really for the people who can't afford to fly first class, anyway. (sigh)
Much preferable, and harder for my psyche to ignore at 5am, my new alarm sounds like church bells. Or, alternately, my grandmother's creepy hall clock. Both impart a certain level of moral responsibility to be at work on time. There's nothing like a swift kick in the conscience to get you out of bed! AND, as a bonus, I can go to sleep to the sound of crickets, wind chimes, or seagulls. The wind chimes are a bit too close to church bells for me, and the seagulls remind me too much of colic-y baby, so I chose the crickets. ...This is me being positive, just in case you couldn't tell.
As part of this new delightful routine, I'm practicing my Tai Chi in the mornings, followed by school work when I'm too awake to avoid it: After I work out the pre-dawn unfocused stares, and before the after-lunch yawns hit. I have a new bedtime, too-- and a new budget to keep me out of trouble between times. Yeah. Just when I thought that between office work and school work, they'd bury me with my fingers welded to the keyboard-- here comes a change of pace!
Call me a dork-- I'm actually looking forward to the possibility of getting my school work done ahead of time. I repeat-- Ahead of Time! That last-minute unedited rush worked for me in high school and even in my undergrad program... (though I'm not sure I'd even get accepted at my old school now-- their new enrollment standards give me nosebleed) but I just can't seem to get the same good grades from turning in half-arsed assignments in Grad School. And the work is HARDER this time around! Of course, this time I'm actually maintaining a home (not shoveling out a dorm room), fixing my own food (not making trips to the cafeteria), and earning my own wages (not subsisting on a combination of parental handouts and school-supplemented work-study scholarships) --in my free time between classes.
I've noticed it costs more to keep me these days, too. I guess I could lose the car and gain some house-mates... but I can't even begin to tell you how GOOD it feels to state the decisions that are best for me, and know that's the end of the conversation. (Unless I'm on the phone with my parents, of course. Then, even if they gasp!* agree with my decision, it'll be hours before they actually communicate that approval.)
*Not responsible for offended sensibilities, bad word choices, or childish situations. For a more adult assessment of my parents than I've given thus far, and their quest to help me make a good life for myself whether I want it or not, see future blog entries. Unrated, 28 years and counting.
'Tis the season, and all that. If you were wondering about the alarm clock purchase and other of my personal resolves, Read On! If you wanted to know more about my friend's weird New Years traditions (or live in the South, and want to be sure she got them right)-- here is the link.
I have started a new job to compliment the new year. Or rather, I have returned to a job I once held, but in a new form and at a new place, and with a new appreciation. I'm a nanny-- possibly even an au pair! (Totally different designation, and parents appreciate you more because you are "educated" and/or "from overseas.") On the days I nanny, I have to get up at about 5am. It's a bit painful, as I haven't gotten used to my new schedule yet. I do, however, have a new alarm clock. The old alarm had two options- radio alarm (easy to sleep through, as I used to take naps to rock music in college), or sudden heart attack at 50 decibels. Ouch! On the good side of the scale, when I finally arrive at work, I get to cuddle a really cute baby, whose nick-name is "Pork Chop," and read happy books all day to a little boy who calls me "Spicy." (No relation to the pop band, thank you god.) I tell you, life is GOOD!
Apparently, they don't make the previously coveted light-brightening alarm clocks for the common masses anymore, though I SWEAR I saw one in the last "in-flight-magazine" I read. Of course... the items available for purchase in those ridiculous magazines are not really for the people who can't afford to fly first class, anyway. (sigh)
Much preferable, and harder for my psyche to ignore at 5am, my new alarm sounds like church bells. Or, alternately, my grandmother's creepy hall clock. Both impart a certain level of moral responsibility to be at work on time. There's nothing like a swift kick in the conscience to get you out of bed! AND, as a bonus, I can go to sleep to the sound of crickets, wind chimes, or seagulls. The wind chimes are a bit too close to church bells for me, and the seagulls remind me too much of colic-y baby, so I chose the crickets. ...This is me being positive, just in case you couldn't tell.
As part of this new delightful routine, I'm practicing my Tai Chi in the mornings, followed by school work when I'm too awake to avoid it: After I work out the pre-dawn unfocused stares, and before the after-lunch yawns hit. I have a new bedtime, too-- and a new budget to keep me out of trouble between times. Yeah. Just when I thought that between office work and school work, they'd bury me with my fingers welded to the keyboard-- here comes a change of pace!
Call me a dork-- I'm actually looking forward to the possibility of getting my school work done ahead of time. I repeat-- Ahead of Time! That last-minute unedited rush worked for me in high school and even in my undergrad program... (though I'm not sure I'd even get accepted at my old school now-- their new enrollment standards give me nosebleed) but I just can't seem to get the same good grades from turning in half-arsed assignments in Grad School. And the work is HARDER this time around! Of course, this time I'm actually maintaining a home (not shoveling out a dorm room), fixing my own food (not making trips to the cafeteria), and earning my own wages (not subsisting on a combination of parental handouts and school-supplemented work-study scholarships) --in my free time between classes.
I've noticed it costs more to keep me these days, too. I guess I could lose the car and gain some house-mates... but I can't even begin to tell you how GOOD it feels to state the decisions that are best for me, and know that's the end of the conversation. (Unless I'm on the phone with my parents, of course. Then, even if they gasp!* agree with my decision, it'll be hours before they actually communicate that approval.)
*Not responsible for offended sensibilities, bad word choices, or childish situations. For a more adult assessment of my parents than I've given thus far, and their quest to help me make a good life for myself whether I want it or not, see future blog entries. Unrated, 28 years and counting.
Tuesday, December 5
I was one, once.
Well, I had planned to tell you about my belief that my life is being recorded for a sitcom. I don't know who's writing the script, but they have one hell of a weird sense of humor-- and some horribly comedic timing. I have some friends who I know have major roles in the sitcom of my life-- and they would tell you the same thing. ...but I'm not going to talk about that today.
In my life, I've been a babysitter, a nanny, an Au Pair, a front desker who also kept track of kids in the office, ... And each of these roles has been very different. Starting with the pay. And the amount of time the parents spend telling you what "normal" is in their household before they leave. Its very confusing if you've never been a part of the program before. I just checked a website for helping folks get what they want, and half the people who want child care ask for nannies, and then want to pay for a babysitter. The other half ask what 'normal' is in nanny-land. I swear, nobody knows, and if they do, they aren't telling! So let me be one of the first. Just realize-- I only know what's normal for me.
When I lived in New York, in 2002, a live-in full-time nanny in a small town with one very high-maintenance child and two very large dogs with long tongues (this was before the pitbull, too) was paid around $500 a month, before taxes. If you actually were lucky enough to find a well-off family in New York City who wanted a nanny, you could get your own mother-in-law apartment, a car to drive, and a good living wage... but that was never me. That was the dream that the Nanny-Placement-Services dangled in front of your nose to get you to sign on with them. Before that, as a babysitter, $5/hour for two kids was considered good pay. You would consider yourself rich if you spent all evening with two kids, and walked home with a $20 bill in your pocket. Since then, I've made up to $10/hour as a part-time nanny, for up to two children. I made $14 an hour as an assistant in a business, with less important responsibilities.
I've had a lot of people be shocked at paying $10/hour for child care. Some of these same people actually pay $15 to $25 for a 20-minute visit to let their pets go pee in the yard every day. And when people consider letting you into their home to care for their pets, they DEFINITELY call your references. Want to know the odds of having a parent actually do a background check on you before leaving you alone in their home with their kid? I don't.
Anyway, Its a strange thing to be back in the world of child care, daycare, nanny and Au Pair. I love the children-- they are such a great excuse to get out the old finger paints, or buy the new water-washable color markers, and really go wild scribbling colorful nothings onto a big piece of recycled paper. Making up fun activities that require autumn leaves, lots of string, and laughter... I could live like that. The hard part is the parents. How do you tell a parent, who pays you good money to do what they do when they can't do it, that their child is never going to remember (at the age of 3) what they did wrong, after not knowing it was wrong, and doing it, and then having to stand in the corner for 20 minutes to think about it. At three-- they probably don't even know all the words to "I Like To Eat Apples And Bananas!" And how do you explain that they are crying because they are ANGRY at the age of five, when you embarrassed them by wiping their nose in front of their favorite teacher, and then telling them to "Blow!"... and telling them to stop crying really won't solve anything. It just embarrasses them worse. And at the age of 11... if you know after an hour in their company that the child is smoking pot, and the parents don't know... what you have to say probably won't make the parents believe you. If they can't see it, chances are they DON'T WANT TO. Like I said-- parents can be difficult.
Personally, I ask the parents for THEIR references before I agree to a long-term contract. And I call. There isn't a test you have to pass to be a parent. But nannies? Real nannies who read child-development books, and use baby sign-language to help toddlers communicate, and CARE that too much TV is bad for the brain... Those are hard to come by. And when you do? Usually they are too busy being moms. And since they know their own worth... you might find yourself paying a little more than $10 an hour. I was one, once.
In my life, I've been a babysitter, a nanny, an Au Pair, a front desker who also kept track of kids in the office, ... And each of these roles has been very different. Starting with the pay. And the amount of time the parents spend telling you what "normal" is in their household before they leave. Its very confusing if you've never been a part of the program before. I just checked a website for helping folks get what they want, and half the people who want child care ask for nannies, and then want to pay for a babysitter. The other half ask what 'normal' is in nanny-land. I swear, nobody knows, and if they do, they aren't telling! So let me be one of the first. Just realize-- I only know what's normal for me.
When I lived in New York, in 2002, a live-in full-time nanny in a small town with one very high-maintenance child and two very large dogs with long tongues (this was before the pitbull, too) was paid around $500 a month, before taxes. If you actually were lucky enough to find a well-off family in New York City who wanted a nanny, you could get your own mother-in-law apartment, a car to drive, and a good living wage... but that was never me. That was the dream that the Nanny-Placement-Services dangled in front of your nose to get you to sign on with them. Before that, as a babysitter, $5/hour for two kids was considered good pay. You would consider yourself rich if you spent all evening with two kids, and walked home with a $20 bill in your pocket. Since then, I've made up to $10/hour as a part-time nanny, for up to two children. I made $14 an hour as an assistant in a business, with less important responsibilities.
I've had a lot of people be shocked at paying $10/hour for child care. Some of these same people actually pay $15 to $25 for a 20-minute visit to let their pets go pee in the yard every day. And when people consider letting you into their home to care for their pets, they DEFINITELY call your references. Want to know the odds of having a parent actually do a background check on you before leaving you alone in their home with their kid? I don't.
Anyway, Its a strange thing to be back in the world of child care, daycare, nanny and Au Pair. I love the children-- they are such a great excuse to get out the old finger paints, or buy the new water-washable color markers, and really go wild scribbling colorful nothings onto a big piece of recycled paper. Making up fun activities that require autumn leaves, lots of string, and laughter... I could live like that. The hard part is the parents. How do you tell a parent, who pays you good money to do what they do when they can't do it, that their child is never going to remember (at the age of 3) what they did wrong, after not knowing it was wrong, and doing it, and then having to stand in the corner for 20 minutes to think about it. At three-- they probably don't even know all the words to "I Like To Eat Apples And Bananas!" And how do you explain that they are crying because they are ANGRY at the age of five, when you embarrassed them by wiping their nose in front of their favorite teacher, and then telling them to "Blow!"... and telling them to stop crying really won't solve anything. It just embarrasses them worse. And at the age of 11... if you know after an hour in their company that the child is smoking pot, and the parents don't know... what you have to say probably won't make the parents believe you. If they can't see it, chances are they DON'T WANT TO. Like I said-- parents can be difficult.
Personally, I ask the parents for THEIR references before I agree to a long-term contract. And I call. There isn't a test you have to pass to be a parent. But nannies? Real nannies who read child-development books, and use baby sign-language to help toddlers communicate, and CARE that too much TV is bad for the brain... Those are hard to come by. And when you do? Usually they are too busy being moms. And since they know their own worth... you might find yourself paying a little more than $10 an hour. I was one, once.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)