Shin-nanny-gans

Only a child sees things with perfect clarity, because she/he hasn't developed all those filters which prevent us from seeing things that we don't expect to see. ~Douglas Adams

So as many of you know, I'm a bit of a "Jane-of-all-trades".  Managing the trailer park was perhaps my most cherished and satisfying job thus far, although my nanny gig comes in
at a close second.
Along with my "shin-nanny-gans" position, I currently hold 2 other part-time jobs:
I help run a Japanese tea shop (hence my hair, skin and voice all are turning Japanese with a trailer trash drawl, of course) and I'm a substitute elementary school teacher for a district
in the area. This third position happens to bring me the most money; hence, I do it.

Last week, I was in a second grade classroom and I positioned myself on a small chair in the middle of the carpet; a carpet with a picture of the United States of America on it...
"I sit on Montana." one little girl with pig-tails says. "No, I sit on Montana." a boy yells. "I sit on Texas and that's where my tia lives." said another..."Watch out! When you sit on Texas, you might sit on a steer's horns." I, the smart-ass substitute, responded.

I love carpet time with children.  You sing a little, do some stretches and yoga, read some cool and interesting books and have lots of sharing.  It's so revealing, the sharing thing.
But it never fails, and it seems to always happen a lot with second graders; they inevitably start talking (in great detail) about their animals that either died, ran away or worse.  
EVERY DAMN TIME, no joke.
One kid starts in and then another, then 5 hands shoot up and they all have something to share on the subject. By the third kid, I'm fucking depressed out of my mind and I'm in desperate need of changing  the subject.
I inevitably pull out a Dr. Seuss book or something just to not break down in front of twenty 
7-year olds.
Kids are so honest.  I recall subbing in my pal's kindergarten one time not so long ago. I'm sitting with a small group of 7 or 8 kids and one little boy announces, "My dad's in jail." The little girl to his right looks so happy to have something in common with him, "So is my daddy!" she exclaims. Then (again) the hands shoot up.
I've come to believe, that young children walk around in a puffy honesty cloud 24/7.

Like when I ask The Cousin if she pinched Sweet Pea, she looks me in the eyes and says, "Yes."

The Cousin fakin it.

I dig that. Why are we grown-ups such liars?! And what changed us from those little innocent Truth-Sayers to the most embellishing, lying mammals on the planet? When did the shift take place?

Last week, when I asked The Cousin if she was tired and ready to take a nap, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.  "Okay, nighty night." I said and then, like a mattress spring, she popped up and said with such joyful jubilation, "I'm not sleeping, Bal La Lee! I awake!" 

 

Even Kitty's awake.

I think children, especially those who witness joy, positive vibes and honesty in their day to day lives, maintain their truthful little selves for quite awhile; until maybe they leave the safety and comfort of their guarded nests. That is when the world becomes the Loch Ness Monster and that is when they (we) have to sometimes fudge the truth in order to survive.    

Maybe it's about grown-up survival.

I think this is one reason we grown-ups "ooh and aww" at the sight of a baby.  They're so damn cute, yes, but it's that innocence we see in their faces; the truthful words we hear that cause us to stop and want to pick them up, hold them, kiss them, become their nanny!

The Cousin kissing Ducky.

Okay, that was a weird kiss, but sweet nonetheless.  I'm telling you, kids got it goin on! 
It's how the world should be.

Young kids are "in-the-moment", "do-the-right-thing", honest people most of the time.   

I got the beat.

That "in-the-moment-thing" is so connected to the truth and innocence that I'm yakking about...

Where as you and I see a toilet, Sweet Pea sees bongo drums.  So cool.  When children are allowed to explore, create, voice their opinions, think beyond and out of our box that we tend to stuff them into, then they remind us, perhaps, of our own soul; the one we left behind.  
Walt Disney was once quoted as saying, "That's the trouble with the world.  Too many people grow up."



Sweet Pea



Seems as if we're talking about two things here; truth and innocence.  You know, they go together like jam and white bread and I'm gonna tell you why. (You knew I would).  When your life is filled with endless joys and all your needs are met; meaning you want for nothing...
When everyone that you encounter is trustworthy, of good ethic and follows through on what they say...When discussion, rather than explosion, is what you learn to expect when you find yourself in a bad situation...When fairness is what is shown to you from Day One...
I suspect all this and more are factors in us becoming truthful adults and maintaining our gorgeous innocence!  Might I say, my grown-up readers, then we'll begin to walk in that puffy cloud of honesty and innocence.  Aww, such a majestic, beautiful thing.

So, that's my 2 cents (more like 2 bucks) for today. Oh! And let's not forget the laughter!

The sound of The Cousin and Sweet Pea laughing makes me happy; truly it does.
The drag would be if I were watching them one evening and the power went out.
~tpg

A Day in the Life of...

I can't get no privacy at home or on the job.
At home, it's constant.
The cats follow me to the toi toi  and lurk around me, sniffing and trying to get under my thighs and into the bowl while I sit and attempt to do my business..
At The Cousin's house, both girls also follow me in, even after I've bribed them with toys, tippy-cups and cereal bits to keep them distracted so I can have 30 seconds of peace and solitude while I pee.
But, no.
The Cousin runs in and stares at me with those eyes.
"Bal La Lee. What you doing?"
"I'm going potty." 
"Going pottee?"
"Yep."

In crawls Sweet Pea.  She resembles my cats. She lurks around on the floor trying to get up and into the toilet bowl. I can't even wipe.
I'm making all kinds of lame attempts to get them into the other room,

"Can you go get me your Cat in the Hat book?" I say to The Cousin in hopes she's feeling cooperative and hoping Sweet Pea will follow her out like a shadow.  No dice.
You can't always get what you want and they stay right there like shit in a diaper.

The Cousin's parentals are starting to introduce the toilet concept to her, so they bought her an Elmo toilet.  I think it's kinda funny.
She digs Elmo, so to them, it makes sense that she'll want to sit on Elmo and go potty.  Hmmm.
I'm thinkin she might be intelligent enough to not want to shit on Elmo's face.
It's going to be a long road and I'll tell you why.  For starters, many of The Cousin's toys are in the living room, she therefore likes to drag the Elmo toilet to the living room for playtime.
I move it back to the bathroom, telling her it's not a toy, which obviously makes no sense to her whatsoever.
When diaper changing time comes, I ask The Cousin if she wants to sit on her "big girl toilet" and go potty.  She says, "Yes".  So, I put her down from the changing table, butt-naked, and she walks down the hall to the bathroom.  I'm feeling very cool and optimistic and I'm secretly hoping that I am the one who makes this break-through happen!  We get to the Elmo latrine, I joyfully encourage her to sit down and she simply says, "No."
In fact, The Cousin sees a much better solution.

She puts Kitty on the toilet.
Kitty goes everywhere with her these days, and it's Kitty that needs to be "potty-trained".
I actually hate that term, "potty-trained".  The whole 'training' of a baby kinda reminds me of
training a mule or a dog in a way, but whatever.  What the hell do I know? I'm just the nanny who aspires to win the "2013 Nanny of the Year Award" for getting the kid transitioned from diapers to the pot.
I'm also the nanny who would LOVE to change diapers 5 times in a day rather than 10.

During Sweet Pea's 30-40 minute morning naps, The Cousin and I always slip away to
'project-land'.  Today, we dipped chalk in water and made cool drawings such as "purple rain from the clouds" and "grass at the park" The Cousin's favorite color is purple, hence her "Prince-like" reference to rain.

It was a cloudy, cold and overcast Wednesday, so the girls and I decided to stay inside and wear our sunglasses.
It made sense to us.

Sweet Pea's outfit is the bomb. Her little knitted sweater-vest is a throw-back to the '70's.
I totally dig her look and it suits her personality.  She's a mighty strong little girl and don't we want girls to be that way? Of course we do. We need more of 'em.  I will spare you my "men rule the whole damn world" soapbox today, however I will say this.  Her strength drives me to drink.

Actually, the 3 of us drink together in the afternoon.  It's our "after walk, after naps ritual".
I make the beverages and we sing a song that I made up in a 'desperate moment of resorting to anything to keep the peace'.  It goes something like this, give or take a few weird words:

"It's drink time! It's drink time! Let's quench our thirsties now! It's drink time! It's drink time! 
We're gonna show you how! Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!"  
I mix up the tune. Usually, it's similar to Row Row Row Your Boat or something like that.

Sweet Pea's 'beverage of choice' is warmed boob milk. The Cousin's is an organic pear and green veggie smoothie and mine is straight vodka.
Just kidding.

I'm grateful that I'm not Sweet Pea's mom and it's not my boob. Because lately, I'm having to do a lot of "finger sweeps" in Sweet Pea's mouth to remove, paper, faux leather, yarn and other debris and damn her teeth are GINORMOUS AND SHARP! I'll leave what those fangs must feel like when they bite down on her mom's boob to your imagination.

Well, that's the story, folks.
Except that when 5 o'clock comes, and the papas walk in, I bolt!
You would too.  Cheers!
~tpg

"I know. Stop Talking."

I’m typing this week’s blog with one hand because I’m holding a glass of 2-Buck Chuck in the other. Such self-sacrifice also occurs when my big boy is snuggled up, purring on my arm or lap.
The movement of two-handed typing disturbs "the king" and we wouldn't want to do that,
now would we?   

I had such a great Saturday with Wen and a girl pal, whose name will remain anonymous! 
The three of us headed out early to all the yard sales.  Just to mess with ‘em, we hit the ones that said “No Early Birds” before the given time of arrival, simply to release our rebels within.

While many areas of California are still sweltering in near 100 degree temps we, here in

Monterey County, are dripping in early morning fog and wet mucky muck. 
Plainly stated, I froze my ass off yard saleing. 

We got some damn good bargains though: a couple of fancy vases, a Virgin de Guadalupe lamp for a friend, a pork-n-beans dish with lid, fake beads and a Bob Marley sweatshirt.  Wearing a Bob Marley sweatshirt in the trailer park wouldn’t go over well.  Most likely, I’d have been tied up by my ankles, put on trial and executed without a jury of my peers.

My shit kickin crime?  
 H I P P I E.

After yard saleing, Wen dropped my friend and I off at Hambrook’s Auction in Pacific Grove. 
This is my new addiction; the auction.  Well, I have another:  Peanut Butter Cheerios. OMG!

There's only a couple a things that would make a ‘trailer girl’ chirpier than an auction:
Watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while chugging a free six-pack left over from the Annual
Moose Lodge picnic or winnin 4 bucks on a Quick-Pick.
Hambrook's Auction has been in existence since forever.
http://www.hambrooks-auction.com/
It's held in a huge 16,000 sq foot building, live auction carried out upstairs, silent auction happening downstairs.  The crowd's mixed like a well-tossed salad:
antique dealers, consignment store whores, Ebay fanatics, hillbillies lookin for a deal and us,
two girls just looking for a good time. (I, of course, am also looking for some stock for our resale business known as V W Upcycling.)
Before we enter the action, my pal and I head for Pavel's Bakerei (they spell bakery in a shi shi way) for a delicious breakfast pastry and coffee.
I, being the diabetic, can hardly inject my insulin fast enough and get through the bakery door.
As we storm through the line, taking "cuts" like first graders in a line to get on a field trip bus,
I'm instantly happier than a tornado in a trailer park.

I'm drooling.  No doubt.  My pal says to me, "Let's just get something small and take it to go."
SOMETHING SMALL? Come on now! Are you f@#king kiddin me?
I order some fancy dancy raspberry donut thing that they call a "bombolini" and let me tell y'all,
They ain't the donuts at Winchell's!  She gets a maple.  We order two coffees also different from  Winchell's.  We pay and head to Hambrook's.
We take our seats as the auction is in full-swing.
I'm as happy as a dead pig in sunshine.  In complete heavenly silence, and with the auctioneer's babble rolling off her tongue somewhere in the distant background, we begin eating...
Eating...Eating...Continually and pleasurably devouring our goodies...

Finally, I lean over to my friend and say, "This is better than sex; better than any orgasm."
To which she replies, her mouth shoved halfway into her maple bombolini,
"I know.  Stop talking."

The bidding's crazy-fast and I can barely keep up.  I mean, even if I had money to blow and I paid close attention, I'd miss the train 'cuz the auctioneer, a big girl with fiery red hair,
is totally breakneck.   Vintage tables, an Eames chair, bamboo coffee table, dining sets from France, "known" paintings that are pencil-signed.  Even a turquoise bust of a horse. 
Boy, rich people or "high cotton" as my grandaddy called 'em, are so weird!
After 'bout an hour, we squeeze through the row of fold-ups and lotsa folks, making our way downstairs to look at the silent auction items.  I see a cabinet with a paper description like this:
"ORENTAL CABNET" STARTING BID $10.00. INCRMENTS $2.50.
YowZA! I love it.  I write in $10.00 and crawl back through a now larger-than-ever crowd in search of other bargain items.  My pal bids on a '60's chair and an original piece of framed art for her daughter.
When I return to my "cabnet",  there are about 6 bids written in and the last being $100 bucks.
Sheee it!
I want it bad, but not that bad.  When we return upstairs we see 3 empty chairs, one of which has a purse on it.  We carefully make our way through the aisle, trying not to step on any body's feet, and take two of the chairs.  As we make ourselves comfy, this hoochy mama, owner of the purse, returns.
She flashes us one of those looks that the bitchy, popular girls gave us nerdy, unpopular girls
in high school and says,  "Well, it looks like someone took my chairs which were saved for my
husband and I."
I stare at her and her husband (singular) with my best trailer trash stare, running my tongue over my two front teeth and under my upper lip gum and making a kinda squeaky mouth-sound; the kind that sounds slightly irritated yet confident.  I say,
"Well, unless you got 2 husbands, that looks like 2 empty chairs, so there shouldn't be a problem."


The auction continues with roaring enthusiasm.
The air is electric and the people are so fun to watch.
I end up buying a modern, angular table lamp.  My pal got her '60's chair and painting and some glass vases.
Yep. Yep. A good time was had by all.

On the way out, she says to me, "That was fun! Let's go back next month."

"OK. I think the next one is the first Saturday in October."  I'm on board.

"No, not the auction. I mean Pavel's."

That girl will do anything for a good.....donut.

Speaking of girls that will do anything or, in this case, boys that will do anything.  How about our vice president?  Joe Biden cozied up with a female biker during a stop the other day
at Cruisers Diner.
The Associated Press snapped this photo of the vice president sitting behind a female biker. While he talked with her, two other male bikers looked on.

According to the campaign, the bikers were part of a group called the "Shadowmen," but there were no other details on who the female biker was or what sparked the conversation between her and the vice president, because the pool had been escorted out of the diner before the encounter.

A second AP photo showed Biden grabbing the female biker's shoulders.

When Biden entered the diner, he approached three diners seated at a counter and asked if he they'd lend him one of their motorcycles, according to the pool report.

"Can I borrow one of your bikes? They don't let me ride anymore," Biden said.

"Probably not," Jeff Cook, one of the diners, said. The vice president responded laughing, "Probably not."

Watch yourself, Joe!

Don't you go pullin an "Eastwood" on us.

I dig biker chicks, though.  I shared time with a few at the park over the years.
Male bikers tend to be big, burly scary-looking varmints with hearts as wide as Leonilda's
(from space 18) flowered housedress catching wind.

But the ladies, oh my! 
I seen 'em with their boots, tattered tank-tops, spiked purple hair.  Some loaded with leather bandannas and bandoliers slung low on their sweaty cleavage which glistened with tattoos. 
To me, they're dangerous priestesses not to be reckoned with. But they're not hooches like the high school bitches or the one at the auction.
These gals aren't kiddin anyone. They know their shit stinks like everybody else's.
And like Joe, I kinda dig 'em.

I think I've come to some sort of end in the road.  Some sort of conclusion point if you will. 
Just one more thing though about those fancy donuts we were eating...

Oh, never mind.  I know. I'll just stop talking.
Love y'all.
~tpg