Life Unscripted

As many of you know, I taught elementary school for several years, beginning in the '90's.
Like the trailer park, I have retained numerous memories that make me laugh out loud
when I recall them. One in particular was when I was teaching a 2nd grade in the fall of 1998...
We were studying the process of how food gets to our table; meaning, the farm to the Save-Mart to the fridge thing.  I don't know if you realize this, but many children think that the food
on their plates originate at Safeway on aisle 5. Anyway, we were studying nuts (No, not my personal history) and when we looked at regions where various nuts were grown and that day, we did a lesson on peanuts.  We sang a song called "Oh! Peanut Butter" and read books on peanut farming and even ground our own nuts to make the chunky butter.  I'll never forget this one little girl writing in her journal about all that she had learned...
"Today we made penis buter.  I lik penis buter. penis gro on trees."

Recently, I was reading an old article in The Huffington Post on unintentionally inappropriate drawings by kids.

The last one brought back a memory of my first year teaching 6th grade. I had the class from hell and I don't care how that sounds to all of my politically correct readers.  I was barely hanging on day in and day out. At about mid-year, I looked out my classroom window and I saw the principal and the vice-principal walking toward my room with a student's journal in their hands.  They wanted to see if recognized the handwriting.  There were 3 sketches of people, each with giant "talk bubbles" above them.  Each person was nude, and I might add, drawn with explicit detail and accuracy.
I had large tits.  My bubble said something like, "I want to have hot sex with Dr. S."  The others' followed along the same lines.  As my principal (Dr. S) questioned me as to who might have done this, I felt my face bursting into flames.   Suddenly, it was as if I had been immersed in 20 feet of water.
All went silent.   I could see his lips moving but I couldn't hear a damn thing.
Days later, I told a 6th grade colleague and her response to it was, "Well, didn't you tell Dr. S. that it isn't true?" 

Nannyhood

In all my years of chronic caffeine addiction, I never thought I could make my cup of coffee too strong. Somehow I did this morning. You can peel it off my front teeth like old carpet.
I'm drinking it though as a matter of necessity.

So, this week I was on hiatus from the babes. No, I didn't need a break, folks.
I was out of town.
Most certainly, I still have material.
First, let me start by introducing you to Nugget.
Nugget is one of The Cousin's many pals that lives at the bottom of a toy bin, except when
The Cousin takes him out for a diaper change, a feeding or a hug.

Nugget

Nugget, like Lambie, Lambert, Kitty and Rudy (the bear with the weird body) are all my helpers.  I use them on a regular basis to distract, entertain and stall The Cousin when such forms of manipulation are required.

But The Cousin is no dummy.  No way.
She's nothing like the 'trailers' who fit the cliche, "dumber than a stump".  She knows distraction when she sees it.
She's "onto me" big time and all the time.
In fact, she's always 5 steps ahead of me.

Nugget (unintentionally) being suffocated

 The Cousin is a busy girl. Her life is a full 32-oz glass.  There's always chores to be done, animal friends that need attending to, and of course, there's the "Sweet Pea" factor. But The Cousin doesn't complain much about her busy life.  She takes it all in stride and I'm sure there's a lesson in that for all of us.

The Sweet Pea Factor

"This"

"This" is getting less and less. THANK GOD (or the new scientific fact of the Big Bang Molecule).
"This" only occurs when she wants this:

The Bribe Factor

I just need to be one step ahead of her, which most of the time, I am.
Last week, though, because the 3 of us and all our f@#!ing animal pals were stuck inside due to lack of a stroller and rain, I was not in step.  Ever have one of those days where you can't find your rhythm?

I did resort to using food as a "mid-day pacifier. But I disguised it as a "learning tool".
Thanks to Trader Joe's, I had happy babes as long as I stuffed their little beaks with sugar.
We sang The Alphabet Song and I offered some quick-course instruction
in spelling and grammar.  
Sweet Pea can now indulge in "solids" as long as you pulverize it into teeny pieces.

Anybody, besides me, digging those new AT & T "It's Not Complicated" commercials featuring a small group of youngsters gathered around a table answering questions about life?

I would imagine those are scripted.
What I ink, and then share with y'all, is not. Unscripted all the way!
So stay tuned. The best is yet to come.
~tpg

What's Up?

“Do you want the small brush? The medium brush? Or the large brush?” I say to the artist.  

This week we’ve decided chalk and pens are for amateurs.  We agree that swirling and sweeping our brushes across blobs and dots of paint is the only way to go.  

“More purple Bal La Lee”.  

Did I mention The Cousin digs purple?  I did too when I was of the toddler age.  

I still do.  Purple is one of those gorgeous shades that no one can really deny its beauty or place in the world.  Teaching kids to make purple from red and blue is like offering them a small package of magic. THEY LOVE IT!

And so The Cousin proceeds in forward motion and she is so into it.  She sees no end in sight.

“More, Bal La Lee”.  "Again, Bal La Lee".  It’s somewhat frightening because you know; being the adult and all, that painting can’t go on endlessly into the night, right? But you also know, that even though you hold the cards, she holds the tantrum that is waiting to explode when you say that  it’s time to clean up the paints and brushes.  

Ahh, the almost 2-year old tantrum. It’s a special, special thing.

Sometimes I still have them.  But The Cousin's tantrums, though dramatic, don't last that long. She had a teeny weeny one today. Hell, she was tired. We turned on Pandora to our Raffi station and she wanted to hear Baa Baa Black Sheep. Since I don't subscribe to the Premium Pandora, where I'd have to pay, I get the freebie which doesn't allow you to choose specific song titles. Every other f@*!ing song came on except Baa Baa Black Sheep. I tried to sing and dance to the others, which usually makes her laugh and forget about the tantrum tornado that lay in wait, but not this time. 

The Cousin's technique consists of throwing her toys, throwing herself on the floor and flailing her limbs or choking Sweet Pea. That's it. Then it's over.

We had some "mini-episodes" today.  Nothing major.   

Although I feel pretty damn confident in many areas, I've never professed to mastering this job.  

I actually could use a nanny support group if the truth be known.

I came very close to calling my union rep today because had the tea been hot, I would have been fired. No doubt.  I put my cup up high enough, or so I thought.  But 'too high' and 'too challenging' are not in Sweet Pea's vocab and thank the Mother of God herself, the Moroccan Mint had cooled.

Yea, it's really funny.  Mommy's gonna think it's funny when the tea stain doesn't come out 

of your shirt or she sues my ass for child endangerment.

The other setbacks today were minor; simply one nanny's inability to set boundaries.

"Yep, I know I wasn't supposed to get into your bag"

And her inability to keep Sweet Pea's socks on.

I remember when my freshman English teacher at Camarillo High School had us write an essay entitled "Wednesdays".

It took me forever to even get a visual because at that time in my life, as so many other times, Wednesdays could be summed up in one word:   Boring.

Those days are gone, my friends.  My Wednesdays are nothing remotely close to boring now. 

There's something way cool about The Cousin's style.  Today's look is reminiscent of the young 

16-year old boys I see walking home from school, pants down below their asses, boxers in full view, skateboards under their arms...

And what about the bed-head? I am such a feeble opponent. 

She didn't want it brushed, so I didn't push it.

What's Up, Bed Head Girl?

It’s so cool to walk around downtown with The Cousin and Sweet Pea all bundled up and tucked in their double-decker Cadillac of a stroller. People are super-oober nice to me. No seriously. 

I mean I feel as if I’m actually reaching celebrity status.  Men smile. Old ladies say, “Hello” and tell me how terrific I am; what a great job I'm doing.  Other moms nod at me as if we’re in the same club and we have oodles in common.  I feel young because a few (a very slight few) ask me, “How old are your children?”  Now that’s worth a million bucks for sure. But then there’s the ‘assumers’, “Do you and your husband live here in town?”  But I’ll tell you what really clinches my jaw. 

It happened today.  So, I’m sitting on a park bench after power-walking for 30 minutes, singing my heart out in hopes they'll crash.  Finally, they’re both out.  It’s heavenesque. 

So I park the rig in the sun, put the sun protector flaps over their little faces, take off my glasses, close my eyes, lean back and soak up the rays. The only sound I hear are a few sparrows chirping in the distance. Gone are the screaming tantrums.  Gone is the hustle, bustle and mayhem of 2 babes throwing books, spilling juice, pulling their diapers off.  It’s just me, the sun and a few restful thoughts.

Then suddenly, some oblivious dude with a long gray beard and a SF Giants cap approaches the stroller, pokes his big ‘ole head in and with a voice that sounds like he’s just smoked a pack of Marlboro’s says, “Hey! Are the cuties twins?”

My Nirvana comes to a screeching halt and I instantly want to strangle him. 

The Cousin opens her eyes first. 

She’s petrified of the bearded man and starts to whimper rather loudly. I have absolutely no urge to be polite. 

I shoot him a look. He gets off easy though because I really just want to head-butt him.

I encourage The Cousin not to wake Sweet Pea, which is a joke.

Soon, we're all wide awake and we head for the park.
Today, The Cousin's dad meets us there and I have never felt so free.

It was quite pleasant actually.

A 2-parent family is definitely helpful.  With him on "swing duty",  I'm able to watch Sweet Pea and she actually doesn't have a chance in hell of eating leaves or wood chips.  I'm on it.

She did, however, eat peach yogurt earlier in the day. 

She's like a garbage disposal.  Man, I couldn't shovel the stuff in fast enough.

What's Up, Yogurt Lovers?

I think Wednesdays are under-rated. Hump day. Didn't we call 'em that once upon a time? 

We're half-way there; trying to make it to the weekend. But what exactly is our hurry?

These girls are "minute by minute" in a moment that could last briefly or for hours.  They don't give a damn what day it is. Every day is a great day!

They are blissful most of the time, and because they are... I am.

Well, it's almost 8:00 p.m. Nightie night all!

~tpg

W(h)ine Wednesdays

I arrive at 7:45 a.m. and usually she greets me with an infectious smile.  With such a sweet, intimate little greeting, you wouldn't think I'd need 2 cups of coffee, the strong shit, under my belt to make it through the day, but I do.

Extreme situations, call for extreme hard-core leaded.  It's necessary on Wednesdays.
You see, I'm now the "Wednesday Nanny" for this little sweet pea and her
1 year 5 month old cousin.  

When I reflect on all the jobs I've had in my lifetime; pre-school teacher, elementary school teacher, coffeehouse owner, tutor, waitperson, hotel concierge, tea shop extraordinaire and my personal favorite, trailer park manager...
This 9-hour-per-week position should be a piece of cake. But quite honestly, it takes not only the cake, but the frosting, decorative sugary florets and rainbow-colored sprinkles as well.
You're probably saying to yourself right about now, "Awww...she's super cute. Like a little button. 
TPG, you whine but all you really have to do is play all day like all those stay-at-home moms. 
What could be so challenging?  And why the hell are you whining?"
And you're probably thinking, "How could such a sweet face turn devil-child?"
This leads me to two words:

“Shit Show”.
Having never been a mom, never breast-fed, never changed a Pamper of a breast-fed child,
I had no f@#*ing clue what to expect.  I mean who really thinks about these things in the course of a day when it doesn't apply to you, right? But let me simply describe "the show" or plural as it occurs 2 or even 3 times, per pooper, per day. Allow me to describe it in a small, but powerful fragment of a sentence:
an oozing river of mustardy goop. And I mean oozing. Come to find out,  breast milk causes this yellowish messy substance and because it is odorless (its single redeeming quality) it oozes on my jeans, oozes on the changing table, oozes on the Safari Rainforest Magic Blanket and oozes
on the toy set.

But not so in the case of her older cousin who is on lots of  solid foods and eats a banana like she was a ravenous alligator devouring raw meat.
Her 'contribution' consists of GINORMOUS, dark brown balls, the size of 1lb. truffles and solid as rocks.  They have a familiar shitty smell that at least gives me a "heads up" when she needs changing, unlike Sweet Pea's whose runs out of her diaper and straight up her back and neck like a gushing river.

I know I've got what it takes.
I know there's a rhythm to be found in a job like this. Changing the diapers, like the changing of the guards, will in fact one day become a timely event; masterminded and easily woven together with feeding times, stroller times, nap times
and play times.
One prays for all of these things to fall into place without any wailing.  But you know what?
The wailing comes! And that little "Sweet Pea" has lungs! They call her "Slugger" but I call her "Fog Horn" and boy when that horn starts to blow, it does not let up!
Ships could find their way to us in a matter of seconds, even through the most dense fog.

Seriously, I'm surprised the neighbors haven't phoned CPS on me.  It begins with a slight, breathless panting and a quivering lower lip. You try everything in your power to avoid what is to come.
You shake rattles. You check her diaper.  You pick her up and blow on her tummy.  You get out the "crunchy book" she loved last Wednesday. You put her in the Ergo. You bounce her on your knee. You warm the bottle of pumped breast milk (liquid gold).  But you don't succeed and the horn blows, sending a screeching vibration that penetrates the walls. All the while you're singing, "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and telling her cousin, 
"No, honey take the crayon out of your mouth, please. 
Crayons aren't food." 

Getting both the little buggers in the 2-child stroller is a classic act of poise and dignity. As they both initially fight it, the passerby's stare at me with the same damn stare I used to give parents who were out in public with screaming children.  You know, the stare that says, "What are you doing to them? What kind of a mother are you? Can't you see those children need something?" 
I wanna shout in their faces, "I'M JUST THE NANNY AND I HAVE AN A.A. IN CHILD DEVELOPMENT AND A B.A. IN EDUCATION AND A TEACHING CREDENTIAL FOR CHRIST-SAKE. I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!" But I don't.
I just keep my composure and my "sweet as maple syrup voice" the one that says "please" and "good job" and I get the girls harnessed in.  Soon we're off.  Hitting the pavement does something miracluous. Let me tell you. The first time I took them for a walk, I couldn't believe it.
It was as if God herself stepped out from curbside and said, "Here is my precious gift to you, Valerie."  I'm talking about the sweet gift of having both girls fall asleep simultaneously.
The baby is snoring by the time we turn the first corner and her cousin, who I call Ms. "I love cinnamon, apple sauce, hitting my cousin with the toy camera and tossing all the books all over the floor 5-times just to watch you pick them all up" is sawing logs after about 10 minutes of walking and I am so relieved I can barely see straight.  I breathe deeply and say a prayer that parents everywhere get this kind of a break.
I walk them up and down the path next to the ocean.  I don't know which is a lovelier sight:
the ocean or the two sleeping babies?  No, wait a sec.
I do know.  Hands down,  it's the sleeping babies.

                         When the cousins are engaged, it's blissful and sweet as Gummy Bears.

Ergo

                           So this is an Ergo. It's a pack thing you can resort to when all else fails.

Ergos, like strollers, car seats and even Pampers are fairly simple to hook, put on or use
unless you're me.
Here's a perfect example of a helpless child dangling in an Ergo that has been put on incorrectly.

Bamba

I start looking at the clock around 4:30 p.m.
I smell of breast milk spit up, Bamba peanut butter crackers and crushed bananas.  I have Exhaustipation.

ex*haus*ti*pa*tion     (noun)    a condition in which one is so tired they don't give a shit.

I haven't been this wiped since the carport inspections in which a half-dozen residents gave me hell for walking with my clipboard on their properties.  Stressful stuff like that happened often. Like telling "Naked Man" at space 31 that he couldn't keep all those goddamn chickens in the back of his carport.  Or having to ask space 22 to stop putting her sanitary napkins down the toilet.  "It's my f@*#ing toilet" I recall her shouting at me from her front porch, as I took off the latex gloves, set the bleach in my wheelbarrow and gave her a "mental middle finger".
"The Chronicles of a Wednesday Nanny" will surely bring some 'situations' that are right up there with my "Park Tales".

At 5:00 o'clock, I hand off my new little friends to their parents like a quarterback under pressure
and head out into "road rage traffic" which I have absolutely no patience for.
Suddenly, I realize I 'm out of wine.
I make a jarring and deliberate right turn into Safeway, where Lerry, that's spelled  L E R R Y, greets me.  He's a middle-aged white guy with a big belly hiding under his Safeway
apron, which has all these pins on it telling you which gift cards to buy.
Lerry's got a look that says, "I hate my job as a Safeway checker but I owe alimony and child support so I'm here".
I put my bottle of cheap Syrah, a salmon filet and can of peanuts on the belt.  It's Wednesday but I don't expect Lerry to listen to a grown woman whine, so I hold back and muster up a courteous "Hello."
I'm totally spent and I'm feeling pretty unsociable.  I'm still humming "The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round "  in my head.  I'm wound tight.

"I forgot my bag, Lerry, so may I have paper not plastic?"
He takes out a brown paper bag, but then puts my salmon in a plastic bag.
"You need this plastic bag so it won't leak in your other bag." 
"No, I don't Lerry. It's ok cuz I'm not going far."
"Yes, you do.  You'll thank me when you get home.  It's just one plastic bag."

I lose it big time.  Nanny Goes Ballistic read the headlines.
And after I'm done yelling at Lerry and educating him about our oceans and pollution,
I yank the plastic bag off my salmon fillet and toss it at his apron.
It's just another Wine Wednesday.

L'Chaim! (To Life!) 
~tpg