June 2006

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 happens 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 on 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 Babies) 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.


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 lunch 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.



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 Turtle, 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.”

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.