Family

I strongly believe that in most situations, in order to have quality time, you need to have a quantity of time as well. A lot of times "quality time" can't just be summoned whenever you want to have it--I realize there are some exceptions to this, because I live a long distance away from my dearest loved ones, so I know what it's like to cram a week or two with all the quality time you can. But still. Most of the time, quality time just happens while you're going through the normal, ordinary routines of spending day-in, and day-out with the same person or people. A lot of beautiful moments happen in the midst of daily routines--beautiful moments that we would miss if we didn't commit ourselves to things like: spouses, families, and jobs.

So, I spend 40 hours a week with these three kids that I nanny for, and I love them to death, but not every moment is "we adore each other and are having so much fun enjoying time together." We have regular days: I wake them up when they're not ready to get up, and there are disagreements, even an occasional tantrum, and lots of times we just ride in the car, listening to the radio and not saying much. But in the midst of our ordinary days, extraordinary moments arise.

Yesterday I picked Vinny up from school and he had a fistful of flowers in his hand. When I asked him what they were, he told me, "Sour flowers! And if you chew on the stems they taste really good!" Being the enthusiastic nanny that I am (as well as the eternal optimist, which insists that these plants won't kill me), I took the stem he offered me and began to chew. DELICIOUS! Cold, sour-slightly-sweet juice bursting into my mouth from a bright and crunchy green stalk. What a miracle! When we got home, Vinny immediately hopped on his bike and took off for the "store" at the corner of his block--which is really a big bush of sour flowers. He gathered a great bunch of the juicy stems and came home bearing them like gifts. By this time Giuwels had disappeared inside to play with her new Barbies, but Vinny asked me if we could stay outside. "Sure, what do you want to do?" I ask him, and he says, "I just want to sit and eat these with you." So, we pull down two beach chairs from where they hang in the garage, and we set them up at the opening of the garage. Then, with our chairs facing West--towards the nearby ocean and the coming sunset, we sit down side by side, putting the long green stems in a pile between us, and start munching away--with not a care in the world on a sunny December afternoon.

Later on, Vinny and I spend at least 20 minutes speaking our "special language" --which could be called the Opposite Language, because all you have to do to speak it is say the exact opposite of what you mean. This results in many silly phrases such as, "Vinny, I absolutely forbid you to do your homework! You must never, ever do it!" or, "I hate this--speaking this language isn't fun at all!" I love seeing the delight in his face while he works out what to say or silently translates what I've just said.

And--to the delight of my book loving heart--when I hand Vinny the next book in the Spyderwick series which he's been reading, a little with me, but a lot on his own, he says, "I can't wait to read this book with you!"

I've devoured every book on nannying that I can find, and none of the platitudes dripping with sweetness, the admonishments to maintain professional boundaries, or the Marxist interpretations of buying and selling love as a commodity can help me understand the paradoxical fact that my paid job is to love.

Also, none of it helps me to answer the question that comes late one afternoon at the kitchen table--while I am simultaneously helping Vinny with his homework and painting Giuwels' toenails, and she asks, "Are you part of our family?" I fumble around with my answer, tripping over words as I somehow try to explain the paradox that not even I understand.

But if the question ever comes again, I will somehow try to tell her that there are two kinds of families--family can be a group of people who are related by blood, or a group of people who share life, and are connected by shared love and experiences--who spend a lot of time with each other, know each other deeply, and care and work for the well-being of the other people in the group. Thankfully, a lot of families aren't just one or the other--most families, I believe, are both. But yes, for better or for worse, and somehow in spite of (or is it because of?) the paycheck I receive at the end of every week, and whatever the consequences or implications of it might be: Yes, in some strange way that I still haven't figured out yet, I am a part of their family.