San Diego, CA
Tomorrow I am driving across the country with Mj, Madi, and Danielle. I will be living in Orlando for the next five months, then onto Chicago for the summer and lastly, a college town somewhere in the Northeast for the Fall (all is subject to change).
I am hoping this will make for exciting blogging. However, I am not hoping for this blog to turn into some sad attempt to be the more poorly written Christian version of Eat. Pray. Love. At that I would fail miserably. My locations are less exotic and I will get laid about a 100% less than she does.
I will miss my friends. I will miss my stellar community. I will miss my family. I will also miss my boss lady Jen and her family – so here is a glimpse of a day at work with them.
Every Thursday I take E to swim class. And one time, seriously one time I forgot a change of underwear in which she refers to as, “nice warm panties,” and she had to go commando. So now every time I walk into the house on Thursdays she has a pair of nice warm panties in her hand in fear that I will forget again.
“E honey, are you ever going to forgive me for forgetting your panties? I’ll never do it again!”
Later that day after swim class I am looking in my bag and realize I have forgotten something – the towel. Even worse. I take E into the bathroom to break the news to her. “Look E, your nice warm panties!” I say as I am slyly grabbing for a roll of paper towels on the sink. She smiles at the sight of them.
“I’m told (cold). I’m told.” She replies.
I begin patting her down with paper towels as if I don’t have to explain myself to her. It was a nice try.
“What are dose (those)? What are you doing?” she begins crying.
“It’s okay, E. They’re just like the paper towels at home. I’m so sorry I forgot your towel. Stand under this. This will make you warm.” I turn on the hand dryer and place her under. Her OCD is now fully inflamed and she is completely mortified.
“You always do dis (this), nanny. You forget eberyding (everything)!”
I calm her down, and she, her younger brother and I head to the car. Sometimes, when in the car, it takes me a long time to figure out what I want to listen to. So if the kids have to wait longer than a minute they begin yelling, “Doe (go)! Doe! Doe!”
Usually I ignore it, but this day was different. “Tell me to doe one more time and I’ll leave you both here, at this pool, and you’ll have to turn into mer-people just to survive.”
“Mer-people?” She askes.
“A mermaid.” I reply.
“I don’t want to be a mermaid; I want to be a dolphin!”
We arrive at the park after I finally get the car “doe-ing,” and go to get the kids out.
“E, why can’t you just keep your shoes on while you’re in the car? Look, your two year old brother still has his shoes on.”
“Somedimes nanny, you just need to give your shoes a rest.”
Somewhere on the southern coast of California is a park, right on the beach, where snow cones are abundant, and not a single bad looking person exists. It’s ridiculous. This is where I like to take the kids. And this is also where E has been brutally attacked by a seagull while eating snacks on two different occasions. So we all kind of go into defense mode when I bring the snacks out. Sure enough a seagull swoops down at her, heading straight for her banana – which she aborts before he makes contact. Impressed by her reflexes but bummed about the barely eaten, fallen banana in which she refers and says, “You can have the rest, nanny.”
“Oh thank you!” I reply to her utter, life-changing generosity. Yet I still shamelessly break off the sandy part and scarf the rest just as she must have predicted I would.
Later that day, I begin to break the news to her about leaving and no longer being her nanny. “So E, you know when Nina (her all-time favorite nanny) used to be your nanny? And then she moved and I became your new nanny? Well, I am leaving, just like Nina did.”
“E? Do you get it? I’m leaving.”
Her face contemplates this for a second. “Ohhhh! Does that mean Nina is coming back den?!!!!!!!”
“Thanks E.” I reply.
Later I ask Jen to explain it to her.
“Honey, your nanny is leaving and you’re never going to see her again.” Boss Lady dramatizes.
“Yes honey?” Jen gears up with an explanatory tone to her voice.
“Can I play with my iPad right now?”
“Oh my gosh!” I yell. Jen is cracking up.
Cheers to new adventures.