November 2006

Words cannot describe how much I hate it when a certain doctor turns on the radio and makes a racket in the kitchen minutes after I’ve put a congested and cranky baby to sleep, insisting that he’ll sleep through it, knowing full well that if and when said baby does wake up, he will not be the one who has to deal with him.



Having a week off and spending it with strep throat and on your period.


I picked everyone up from the airport today. The members of Calamitous Casa are back from Pennsylvania. Winifred was in a surprisingly good mood, considering their flight was delayed a couple of hours. Except for some mild colds the boys are great. Buddha was almost as glad to see me as I was to see him. Gave me lots of slippery, snotty, baby kisses. Bunny, was incredibly well behaved for having been strapped in a seat for several hours. We had quite a bit of fun zooming around the baggage claim, dodging old people and jumping over suitcases. I’m glad they’re home. I missed the boys more than I thought I would, but I’m bummed that I got absolutely nothing accomplished. I, literally, mean nothing. I’m going to have to take advantage of the time I get off in December because I’m going to be real busy starting in January. Why? I’m officially enrolled (again) as a college student! Taking three classes (8 credits) this coming semester. Lovely math and a child development class. So not exactly full time and not enough to put me back on my dad’s insurance, but enough to prove to myself and society in general, that I’m not a total deadbeat and that maybe I do have a semblance of a future. I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since I was in school. Crazy. So, we’ll see. I’m crossing my fingers and taking my adderall and hoping that I can pull this off.


Or even McSteamy, for that matter. In fact, he reminds me more of a certain Dr. Greene. But anyway, that’s not the point. I really like Dr. Doormat. Not in the way I like Luscious Lawyer Daddy, but in a he’s a really great man and I have a lot of respect for him kind of way. In any event, he talks to me. Not in the friendly and civil, but often times trite way that Mrs. P and I converse but in a very honest, unpatronizing, often times intellectual way. He treats me, not as though I’m the hired help, but like he would treat any other person he meets. With respect. Like an equal. (Not that Winifred, doesn’t. It’s just different with her, somehow.) And he actually, genuinely seems interested in what I have to say in return. Every once in a while, if he has a spare moment, I like to pimp him for information about his work. He has some really crazy stuff. Well, last week, I asked him if he preferred working in the hospital he’s at now, or at a trauma center, which is where he used to work. He still works in the ER but his current hospital is smaller and doesn’t receive ambulatory traumas and I was curious if that made a huge difference for him. Turns out, I’m pretty transparent when it comes to my interest in all things medical, because he offered to let me shadow him at work! I get to wear a white coat and a stethoscope and basically follow him around for a few hours on a shift, to see how things really go down. I’m so stoked. And nervous. I have no idea what to expect. He got his schedule for December so I’ll probably end up going around Christmas, during the week that Mrs. Winifred is in San Diego with the boys. We still have to iron out the details but it looks like I’m gonna be a (fake) doctor for a day. Tee hee. I’m practically giddy.

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.


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.




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.

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

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 for 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.

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