To the Nanny

Things are going pretty well for me, but after developing blistering skin and rashes I have to cut down on the cleaning, so I begin looking for other things. “Nanny wanted.” I don’t want to go back there. Needy, overprotective parents, nagging children. You want to read, they want to play, no time to get lost in your own thoughts. I love kids, but what I love more about cleaning is the meditation I do. Cleaning for eight hours straight by myself, I would go crazy if I didn’t get lost in thought. So I play music, paint, pray, chant, read, write, sing, dance, all in my head. It’s impossible with kids. I remember my mom ranting, “Can’t you leave me alone for two minutes? I just want to be able to hear myself think!” We’d stare at her as if she was an escape mental patient, then would laugh and chant, “Mom’s crazy! Mom’s crazy!” We’d chant, and she’d storm off. We really did a number on her, but to this day despite what she endured, she is the most sane person I have ever met.
I don’t know that I have that same strength as my mom, so I am hesitant to reply to the ad, but something about it really stands out. Maybe it is the part that reads “We are laid back parents,” or “We have two great girls, age 9 and 5,” or “We need you for 35 hours or more a week.” Whatever it is, I feel this is my job, for the summer at least, until I start school. The pieces fit so well, I know it is my transition out of cleaning. I stopped cleaning Fiona’s apartment, and Mitfan’s obviously. Vinny hasn’t called in a while, he’s probably too high. And Helena, the only person who pays me decent wages, only needs me twice a month for a few hours, so I’ve really given up on this business and lowered my ambitions there. There’s only one thing to do to prevent my skin from undergoing an unpleasant chemical peel. I have to play with kids.
I meet with Linda at a small coffee shop in my neighborhood called Café 474. We get fancy iced tea that takes 3 minutes to brew and serve. Mine is Blood Orange and tastes really good. It’s cold and refreshing. She gets Roibos and doesn’t know it’s supposed to be red. I do know that, but I don’t want to step on her toes, so I say “That’s weird.” Linda has a slight and withering frame. She is papery and wobbly, so thin yet she looks solid, but it’s just bone protruding. She does not strike me as anorexic, just someone who doesn’t like to eat much. She has a horse shaped face, but is very pretty and feminine with wirery blonde hair flowing every direction and light purple eye shadow. I sense that she’s done a lot of emotional work on herself. It is clear that her tendency is to be type A controlling, but she’s conscious of it and has tried to lead a more relaxed and laid back existence, which panned out to her just being a people pleaser. Still the potentially controlling nature is a concern. Once intimidated by potential employers especially Type A’s, this year of unemployment has taught me to be more confident and honest. I tell Linda the absolute truth about my style working with kids, my experience, my concerns, and the genuine delight I take in being a caregiver. She looks fearful and like she’s hiding a smile at the same time. When we part she tells me she has a lot of good candidates to consider so she’s going to think it over and will get back to me in the next day or two. I want this job, but I am going to be okay if she does not select me.
The next day I get a text from Linda saying she and her ex-husband are talking it over and can she write me later that night. I know then that I got the job. She is keeping a close snag on me and just needs a few hours to convince her ex that I’m the one. I tell her Sure, and sure enough a few hours later I have an email, telling me that for the next few months I will be a full-time Nanny.
Things are looking up. Instead of being on my knees scrubbing I will be on the couch with lemonade and a book bossing kids around.