Giuwels begins a sentence to me one morning with the words, "Fifteen years ago when I was four...." She is currently 5.
Giuwels asks me, "You know what's scary?" What? "The house of a nudist!" (She is trying to say The House of Anubis, which is a teen thriller TV show on Nickelodeon that she's seen commercials for, and has scared her half to death.)
Michael runs upstairs wearing socks, gym shorts, no shirt but a thick red flannel jacket, a beanie, and carry an Indiana Jones style whip that he has just discovered in the vast caverns of stuff that fill his room. He spends the next 15 minutes violently whipping the air for the entertainment of me and Vinny (and trying not to accidentally whip himself in the face, which, unfortunately, happens a few times. Michael informs us, "Now you can see why the job of whipping would be dangerous!").
Later, Recycle Boy makes an appearance. Recycle Boy fights pollution, runs in slow motion, and can even levitate--which provides no end of laughter for much of the evening.
One day, while leaving the park, Vinny threw his shoe into someone's backyard. He was trying to knock a pine cone out of a tree for Giuwels, but that didn't happen. We knocked at the front door for a few afternoons, hoping they'd let us go out back and get the shoe. No one was ever home, so finally, Cheryl suggested we jump the fence. Vinny had arrived home that day with a canister of neon yellow slime called "Atomic Goo" which he had made in school. He fitted this into the front of a rolled up old pizza box, and we stormed the backyard with an Atomic Goo Gun! Sadly, the shoe was gone. We left a note on the man's door, and later he called and told me in an exasperated voice that he'd thrown the shoe away and that he found all kinds of stuff thrown into his backyard by kids, and could he really be expected to keep all of it??? I suppose not.
Last Friday, the two fish died. Squirt and Shamu, may the rest in peace. The circumstances of their death are, forgive the pun, fishy. It is believed that Giuliana accidentally killed them by either transferring them into chlorine water or flooding them with Ammo-lock (a solution that, in small amounts, makes tap water safer for them but, in large amounts, may prove fatal). We literally watched the fish die, as they slowly turned on their backs, fought less and less vigorously for life, and eventually sank to the bottom of their tank. Horrified, I changed their water as soon as we realized what was happening, did everything I could think of to save them, but it was too late. I was devastated; took it far worse than the kids did. Vinny said, with the wisdom and resignation of someone much older than 8, "Well, fish don't last forever, Carolyn." Ah, not much lasts forever, but thank God for the few, precious things that do.
Hopefully, we will buy new fish soon.
Showing posts with label Nannying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nannying. Show all posts
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Late Night Phone Call:
I was sitting in the airport terminal at my gate, waiting for them to finally begin boarding my already delayed red-eye flight to Florida when my phone rings. Receiving a call from Michael. My first thought is that something is wrong--why else would he be calling me? I answer and Michael says, "Carolyn? You haven't left yet? Scotty won American Idol!!"
I've been pulling for Scotty ever since the poor, tasteless people of America voted off Casey. So I was happy to hear the good news. But I was, by far, way happier that Michael--who hates talking on the phone (and will do just about anything to get out of having to make a phone call) had called me of his own initiative.
I hung up thinking, "I am officially family." Not immediate family, of course. Those are sacred boundaries that I would never want to traverse. But family--comfortable-be-yourself-seen-the-best-and-the-worst-of-you family.
I like it.
I've been pulling for Scotty ever since the poor, tasteless people of America voted off Casey. So I was happy to hear the good news. But I was, by far, way happier that Michael--who hates talking on the phone (and will do just about anything to get out of having to make a phone call) had called me of his own initiative.
I hung up thinking, "I am officially family." Not immediate family, of course. Those are sacred boundaries that I would never want to traverse. But family--comfortable-be-yourself-seen-the-best-and-the-worst-of-you family.
I like it.
Something that makes me sad:
Sitting in the Hermosa Beach Dance Studio, watching a mother play around on her iPhone and chat with her friends while the nanny feeds the newborn baby his bottle.
Friday, May 13, 2011
A collection of ordinary moments:
Birth
Giuwels asked me on the way to preschool this morning how dogs have puppies. I said, "They keep the baby in their tummy until it's old enough to be born, just like people do." Apparently, this wasn't what was troubling her because she then asked, "But how do the puppies get out? Does the Mommy throw them up?"
Betsy "Rose"
Vinny's flag is almost done. We just need to put a few more stitches in it tomorrow morning, and then he can take it to school with him. In second grade he has to do three enormous "interdisciplinary" projects--all of which involve researching/reading, creating something, writing, and speaking/speech. This last project is in celebration of Memorial and Flag Day and he has to create an American flag out of whatever material he chooses. When he got the assignment, I checked out a bunch of books on American flags from the library, to get some inspiration. I'm not sure how helpful they proved to be, but--aside from the fact that pictures of the American flag flying at Ground Zero prompted me to blurt out the history of 9/11 (which Cheryl then informed me Vinny had never heard about, and in retrospect, he was probably too young to hear about [WHOOPS]), or that a random (read: disturbing) picture of John Wilkes Booth assassinating Lincoln proved a difficult explanation as well (what does that have to do with the flag anyway?), we came across countless retellings of the story of Betsy Ross--which Vinny pronounced (very endearingly, I might add) Betsy Rose. The image of our noble forebear must have imprinted on Vinny's mind because when I asked him how he wanted to make his flag, he said: sew it. So we had a massive expedition to the Joanne's in Torrance, and since then our lives have been an endless repetition of: cutting felt, threading needles, and using yarn to piece together our homemade American flag. It's actually quite exhilarating, making something with your own hands. Vinny keeps telling me how much fun it is, and he really has done his fair share of the work. I've been so proud of him, doing little blanket stitches all around the edges of the flag. Plus it's been very cozy in the evenings, sitting around sewing together. It really takes me back to Little House on the Prairie and makes me feel like I'm snug in a cabin in the woods with Ma and Pa.
The Jersey Boys & Peter Pan
Having Michael around is great. He does tons of magic tricks (which are actually really good, although I don't work too hard trying to figure them out because I really don't want the "magic" of it to wear off for me. It's much easier to be enthusiastic and interested when you really DON'T know how he's doing it). He plays fun (if not good) music. He makes me laugh by googling things like "Funny Pictures" or different Disney characters and then showing us the pictures. He googled Peter Pan for me tonight and one of the images that popped up was a couple dressed as Peter and Tink--who were obviously a little socially awkward. "Peter" has what can best be described as a Monstrous Bowl Cut, and as Giuwels remarked so candidly, "Tinker Bell is supposed to have blond hair!"
Michael and I share an undying passion for Jersey Boys, and even though neither of us has actually seen the musical, we know the sound track by heart and take every opportunity we can to recite it/sing along with it. So our evenings go like this: Carolyn and Vinny sitting at the kitchen table playing Rummikube. Michael sitting at the kitchen table listening to Jersey Boys and singing along very LOUDly. "BEGGING, BEGGING YOUUUUU, PUT YOUR LOVIN' HAND OUT BABY...." After listening to "Walk Like a Man" for probably the 7th time, I confessed that this song always made me wish I was, in fact, a man. Why, Michael asks. Isn't it obvious? So that I could walk like a man!!! (And so that I could have my father tell me, "No woman's worth crawling on the earth..." Having been born a girl, that dream will never come true.) There is something truly mysterious and elusive about walking like a man. It must feel good, that's all I can conclude.
Lying about Lettuce:
Giuwels lied to me tonight. I told her she had to eat five more pieces (and they were small pieces, covered in Ranch) of lettuce before she could have dessert. She then switched all the pieces of lettuce to another bowl, and brought the empty bowl to me saying, "I ate all my lettuce, now can I have dessert?" Not surprisingly, I discovered the displaced lettuce, confronted my little sinner, and told her now she had lost dessert and she still had to eat the lettuce. She fell apart. I sent her to her bed, and thought about whether my decision to make her eat the rest of the lettuce was the right one. I decided it smacked of some kind of cruelty or harshness to me. I'm a softie. Also, my childhood years are not so far away that I've forgotten what it feels like to be made to eat something you loathe. Into the midst of my thoughts drifts her voice, calling plaintively from downstairs, "I'm sorry for lying!!!!!" I called her back upstairs and told her she did not have to eat the lettuce, because if she really hates it then she doesn't have to eat it. But I also told her that because she lied and because she needs to learn how dangerous lying is, she will not be getting dessert tomorrow either. It felt good. It felt good to assign a fitting punishment out of a concern for her well-being without being mean or disciplining her out of anger. It also feels good to not be the kind of person who can't change her mind.
Giuwels asked me on the way to preschool this morning how dogs have puppies. I said, "They keep the baby in their tummy until it's old enough to be born, just like people do." Apparently, this wasn't what was troubling her because she then asked, "But how do the puppies get out? Does the Mommy throw them up?"
Betsy "Rose"
Vinny's flag is almost done. We just need to put a few more stitches in it tomorrow morning, and then he can take it to school with him. In second grade he has to do three enormous "interdisciplinary" projects--all of which involve researching/reading, creating something, writing, and speaking/speech. This last project is in celebration of Memorial and Flag Day and he has to create an American flag out of whatever material he chooses. When he got the assignment, I checked out a bunch of books on American flags from the library, to get some inspiration. I'm not sure how helpful they proved to be, but--aside from the fact that pictures of the American flag flying at Ground Zero prompted me to blurt out the history of 9/11 (which Cheryl then informed me Vinny had never heard about, and in retrospect, he was probably too young to hear about [WHOOPS]), or that a random (read: disturbing) picture of John Wilkes Booth assassinating Lincoln proved a difficult explanation as well (what does that have to do with the flag anyway?), we came across countless retellings of the story of Betsy Ross--which Vinny pronounced (very endearingly, I might add) Betsy Rose. The image of our noble forebear must have imprinted on Vinny's mind because when I asked him how he wanted to make his flag, he said: sew it. So we had a massive expedition to the Joanne's in Torrance, and since then our lives have been an endless repetition of: cutting felt, threading needles, and using yarn to piece together our homemade American flag. It's actually quite exhilarating, making something with your own hands. Vinny keeps telling me how much fun it is, and he really has done his fair share of the work. I've been so proud of him, doing little blanket stitches all around the edges of the flag. Plus it's been very cozy in the evenings, sitting around sewing together. It really takes me back to Little House on the Prairie and makes me feel like I'm snug in a cabin in the woods with Ma and Pa.
The Jersey Boys & Peter Pan
Having Michael around is great. He does tons of magic tricks (which are actually really good, although I don't work too hard trying to figure them out because I really don't want the "magic" of it to wear off for me. It's much easier to be enthusiastic and interested when you really DON'T know how he's doing it). He plays fun (if not good) music. He makes me laugh by googling things like "Funny Pictures" or different Disney characters and then showing us the pictures. He googled Peter Pan for me tonight and one of the images that popped up was a couple dressed as Peter and Tink--who were obviously a little socially awkward. "Peter" has what can best be described as a Monstrous Bowl Cut, and as Giuwels remarked so candidly, "Tinker Bell is supposed to have blond hair!"
Michael and I share an undying passion for Jersey Boys, and even though neither of us has actually seen the musical, we know the sound track by heart and take every opportunity we can to recite it/sing along with it. So our evenings go like this: Carolyn and Vinny sitting at the kitchen table playing Rummikube. Michael sitting at the kitchen table listening to Jersey Boys and singing along very LOUDly. "BEGGING, BEGGING YOUUUUU, PUT YOUR LOVIN' HAND OUT BABY...." After listening to "Walk Like a Man" for probably the 7th time, I confessed that this song always made me wish I was, in fact, a man. Why, Michael asks. Isn't it obvious? So that I could walk like a man!!! (And so that I could have my father tell me, "No woman's worth crawling on the earth..." Having been born a girl, that dream will never come true.) There is something truly mysterious and elusive about walking like a man. It must feel good, that's all I can conclude.
Lying about Lettuce:
Giuwels lied to me tonight. I told her she had to eat five more pieces (and they were small pieces, covered in Ranch) of lettuce before she could have dessert. She then switched all the pieces of lettuce to another bowl, and brought the empty bowl to me saying, "I ate all my lettuce, now can I have dessert?" Not surprisingly, I discovered the displaced lettuce, confronted my little sinner, and told her now she had lost dessert and she still had to eat the lettuce. She fell apart. I sent her to her bed, and thought about whether my decision to make her eat the rest of the lettuce was the right one. I decided it smacked of some kind of cruelty or harshness to me. I'm a softie. Also, my childhood years are not so far away that I've forgotten what it feels like to be made to eat something you loathe. Into the midst of my thoughts drifts her voice, calling plaintively from downstairs, "I'm sorry for lying!!!!!" I called her back upstairs and told her she did not have to eat the lettuce, because if she really hates it then she doesn't have to eat it. But I also told her that because she lied and because she needs to learn how dangerous lying is, she will not be getting dessert tomorrow either. It felt good. It felt good to assign a fitting punishment out of a concern for her well-being without being mean or disciplining her out of anger. It also feels good to not be the kind of person who can't change her mind.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
This little piggy went to the market....
Giuwels and I have been handling the grocery shopping for the past couple of weeks while Nanny Irma (their housekeeper) is in Mexico on vacation. Today I let her push the cart through the store. I also let her fill up our cart with eight ears of corn on the cob. (She finds the process of shucking corn so delightful and desirable that her greatest act of love is telling Vinny that he can shuck some corn with us as well.) As we walked out of Albertson's, she sighed and said, "That was fun." I assumed she must be thinking of her play date earlier in the afternoon, which involved an enormous blow up pool and water slide. "You mean at Ella's?" I ask. "No. In the grocery store." It warms the deepest cockles of my heart to know that this little girl had so much fun on a mundane trip to the market. The realization dawned on me: how much potential there is for glory, beauty, and FUN in every moment of life! Thank God for children and their sparkling, uninhibited enthusiasm. As we walk to van to unload our groceries, she laughs and says, "It was fun when I asked you if we could get more kettle corn [what she calls corn on the cob] and you said no!"
Okay then!
Okay then!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
He Likes Me!
Cheryl told me that while I was out of town getting my wisdom removed, she was encouraging the kids for being so self-sufficient one morning and jokingly said, "Wow, we could almost do without Carolyn!" To which Vinny responded, "No! I like Carolyn! I want her to keep coming!"
I will now proceed to live off this compliment for days, weeks, even months.
Innately, I sense that the kids do like me, are even genuinely attached to me, but they are not very expressive or even openly affectionate (being damaged by the abrupt departure of previous nannies is probably the cause of this), and so affirmation like this is in rare supply. (Although Cayla also reminded me that kids don't spend everyday telling their parents how much they love them either. I suppose kids take for granted certain "fixtures" in their lives.)
In conclusion, one of the reasons that Vinny likes me is probably because when he asks if he can throw the hard-boiled eggs that we dyed for Easter (and that have since then proceeded to go bad) off the balcony and into the yard/street, I say "Yes, as long as you pick up all the pieces afterward," and then join him on the balcony to watch the rainbow-colored eggs sail through the sky and splatter on the ground. Later I help him pick up the sticky pieces of yolk and the colorful bits of eggshell littered around the yard and street, and we have much more fun than we ever could have had monotonously eating all those hard-boiled eggs day after day.
I will now proceed to live off this compliment for days, weeks, even months.
Innately, I sense that the kids do like me, are even genuinely attached to me, but they are not very expressive or even openly affectionate (being damaged by the abrupt departure of previous nannies is probably the cause of this), and so affirmation like this is in rare supply. (Although Cayla also reminded me that kids don't spend everyday telling their parents how much they love them either. I suppose kids take for granted certain "fixtures" in their lives.)
In conclusion, one of the reasons that Vinny likes me is probably because when he asks if he can throw the hard-boiled eggs that we dyed for Easter (and that have since then proceeded to go bad) off the balcony and into the yard/street, I say "Yes, as long as you pick up all the pieces afterward," and then join him on the balcony to watch the rainbow-colored eggs sail through the sky and splatter on the ground. Later I help him pick up the sticky pieces of yolk and the colorful bits of eggshell littered around the yard and street, and we have much more fun than we ever could have had monotonously eating all those hard-boiled eggs day after day.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Sick Day:
Let me start off by saying that I know she's not mine. And yet, in many ways she is mine, because she's been entrusted to my care and responsibility, and because I love her. Because of the time, energy, and love I've invested in her and her brothers, they'll always be mine--not the way my own children will one day be mine, of course, but I will always carry them within my heart, delight in who they are, and be actively concerned for their well-being (to the best of my ability).
Well yesterday, my sweet little charge, Giuliana, woke up sick: cough, sore throat, and fever running at about 101 degrees. This normally energetic, precocious, and talkative child had nothing to say, and felt much too poorly to go to school. She slept most of the morning while I did chores around the house, and then around 11 she woke up and said she felt better. So we colored with our newly minted homemade crayons--which we made yesterday by melting down all the broken pieces of crayons they had in cupcake tins and then letting them cool and harden in the refrigerator. She wanted to copy everything I drew, which was cute and flattering since I'm hardly talented in the area of artistic creation. When we got tired of coloring, I made lunch and she wandered away into the living room. When I went to get her for lunch, I found her laying peacefully on the carpet in a patch of sunlight falling through the skylight. She never did eat lunch, and the avocado, strawberries, and peanut butter sandwich that I'd prepared for her sat untouched at the kitchen table. Instead, she continued to lay on the carpet, long after the sunlight had traveled across the room. Eventually she fell asleep, leaving me to contemplate the wonder and beauty--the sweetness and innocence--of a little girl in pink pajamas, napping on the living room floor.
Well yesterday, my sweet little charge, Giuliana, woke up sick: cough, sore throat, and fever running at about 101 degrees. This normally energetic, precocious, and talkative child had nothing to say, and felt much too poorly to go to school. She slept most of the morning while I did chores around the house, and then around 11 she woke up and said she felt better. So we colored with our newly minted homemade crayons--which we made yesterday by melting down all the broken pieces of crayons they had in cupcake tins and then letting them cool and harden in the refrigerator. She wanted to copy everything I drew, which was cute and flattering since I'm hardly talented in the area of artistic creation. When we got tired of coloring, I made lunch and she wandered away into the living room. When I went to get her for lunch, I found her laying peacefully on the carpet in a patch of sunlight falling through the skylight. She never did eat lunch, and the avocado, strawberries, and peanut butter sandwich that I'd prepared for her sat untouched at the kitchen table. Instead, she continued to lay on the carpet, long after the sunlight had traveled across the room. Eventually she fell asleep, leaving me to contemplate the wonder and beauty--the sweetness and innocence--of a little girl in pink pajamas, napping on the living room floor.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Greatness:
There's nothing quite like a great day. There are different things that make each day great, and today was great because:
I slept in until noon. (For those of you who think this is overwhelmingly slothful of me, let me add that I do wake up at 5:30 a.m. regularly for work.)
Sean and I went hiking up in the hills behind our neighborhood. We loved the views, the sunshine and green hills, and the little cottontail bunny who hopped across our path!
I babysat the Moothart boys this afternoon. I wished Thomas a Happy Birthday, received a spontaneous hug from Jonathan, and rescued Josiah when we all went inside and he remained outside calling, "Need help! Neeeeeed help!" (He couldn't get down from his perch.)
Chicken Parmesan for dinner. Organic, free range chicken from Whole Foods. Whole wheat pasta from Trader Joe's. Yummy AND healthy!
Now, yesterday was great for entirely different reasons. Vinny and I got to spend the afternoon together, just the two of us, since Giuliana was at a playdate and Michael was still at school. Vinny just discovered "fortune tellers" or "cootie catchers" or whatever you want to call them (the folded paper creations with four points that move back and forth...) and he was delighted beyond belief that I was able to make them. So, while he did his homework, I made fortune tellers for all the kids at his table in school (SIX). Vinny said, "I really like you now." I said, "EXCUSE ME?!?!?! You JUST NOW started liking me?" (I've worked there for 7 months.) "Well, I already liked you," he explains, "but I like you even more now!" Oh, the honesty.
Vinny also gave a brilliant and adorable explanation of where babies come from last night. Somehow it came out that I want to have at least 5 children.
Vinny: 5 kids??? But the more kids you have the more work you have!
Me: I don't think of it that way, I think the more kids you have the more fun you have!
Giuwels: I want three kids. 2 girls and a boy.
Vinny: I want three kids too. 2 boys and a girl.
Giuwels: Carolyn, do you have any kids?
Me: Not yet, Giuwelsy, I just want to have them some day.
Giuwels: Well, are you married yet?
Me: Yeah, I'm married, I just don't have any kids yet.
Giuwels: Well, if you're married, why don't you have some babies?
Vinny: (with authority) Giuliana, you don't get married and then a baby pops out. It takes a lot of time for love to fill you up, and then a baby comes out.
I slept in until noon. (For those of you who think this is overwhelmingly slothful of me, let me add that I do wake up at 5:30 a.m. regularly for work.)
Sean and I went hiking up in the hills behind our neighborhood. We loved the views, the sunshine and green hills, and the little cottontail bunny who hopped across our path!
I babysat the Moothart boys this afternoon. I wished Thomas a Happy Birthday, received a spontaneous hug from Jonathan, and rescued Josiah when we all went inside and he remained outside calling, "Need help! Neeeeeed help!" (He couldn't get down from his perch.)
Chicken Parmesan for dinner. Organic, free range chicken from Whole Foods. Whole wheat pasta from Trader Joe's. Yummy AND healthy!
Now, yesterday was great for entirely different reasons. Vinny and I got to spend the afternoon together, just the two of us, since Giuliana was at a playdate and Michael was still at school. Vinny just discovered "fortune tellers" or "cootie catchers" or whatever you want to call them (the folded paper creations with four points that move back and forth...) and he was delighted beyond belief that I was able to make them. So, while he did his homework, I made fortune tellers for all the kids at his table in school (SIX). Vinny said, "I really like you now." I said, "EXCUSE ME?!?!?! You JUST NOW started liking me?" (I've worked there for 7 months.) "Well, I already liked you," he explains, "but I like you even more now!" Oh, the honesty.
Vinny also gave a brilliant and adorable explanation of where babies come from last night. Somehow it came out that I want to have at least 5 children.
Vinny: 5 kids??? But the more kids you have the more work you have!
Me: I don't think of it that way, I think the more kids you have the more fun you have!
Giuwels: I want three kids. 2 girls and a boy.
Vinny: I want three kids too. 2 boys and a girl.
Giuwels: Carolyn, do you have any kids?
Me: Not yet, Giuwelsy, I just want to have them some day.
Giuwels: Well, are you married yet?
Me: Yeah, I'm married, I just don't have any kids yet.
Giuwels: Well, if you're married, why don't you have some babies?
Vinny: (with authority) Giuliana, you don't get married and then a baby pops out. It takes a lot of time for love to fill you up, and then a baby comes out.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I think about my job a lot, always trying to figure out exactly what it is that makes me love my work so much. Here's one reason: I love my job because it doesn't feel like a job at all, it just feels like being part of a family. All the other jobs I've ever had felt abnormal--I would step out of my regular life and go do some task that I would otherwise never be doing--and then I would get off and re-enter the real world. In between punching in and punching out, I would count the hours--watching the clock and waiting for this interruption to end so that I could get back to what I really wanted to be doing.
When you're doing what you love--what you would want to be doing whether anyone paid you or not--well then, you don't have to watch the clock. Confucius said to choose a job that you love, and then you will never have to work a day in your life. There's this amazing feeling when you find a job that pays you to actually do what you want to be doing. So, I'm doing what I love--therefore, my job doesn't feel like a job at all. But there's another reason my job doesn't feel like a job: my job is, essentially, to be an active, supportive, and loving member of a family. This doesn't feel like a job to me--just a normal part of life. I spent the first eighteen and a half years of my life being part of a vibrant, struggling, chaotic, and loving family unit. This comes naturally.
When I moved away to college, I was still part of my family, but in a more removed way. I was a member, but from a distance. And the minute I moved, I started missing my family, and realizing just how much I had taken for granted. There's an inevitable loneliness that comes when you learn to live alone, or with a couple roommates....after you've lived in a house with six people whose actions, thoughts, emotions, and histories were shared in such close quarters. I love Sean, and we are incredibly happy together--we are completely happy in each others company, but to me--so often--our house feels empty. I especially feel this after I come home from a long day at work--where I slip right into the family dynamic and thrive in that environment. Sean and I have a family dynamic--it is just the family dynamic of two--which is far different from the family dynamic of 5 or 6 people, that I am used to. It's good for it to be just me and Sean right now. But I also can't WAIT until the day when our home is overflowing with children, and buzzing with life and activity. I also continue to love my job and enjoy all the moments I get to spend with these three kids--who have become family to me, and I to them simply by the sheer amount of time we spend together and the affection we share.
I love mornings when I take Vinny outside to wait for his mom to get back from driving carpool for her oldest child, so she can pick Vinny up and take him to school. Giuwels always tags along in her pajamas and we open the garage door and find the street half in shadow, half bursting with early morning sunlight. Vinny digs out a basketball from somewhere in the garage and starts shooting hoops, and Giuwels put her little hand in mine and says, "Come on, Carolyn, let's go sit in the sun." And we walk over to the large rocks that line their neighbor's yard, and she plays on the rocks and I sit on one, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight contrasting with the chill morning air. And everything is bright, and new, and the children are beautiful and precious, and this--to me--is happiness.
When you're doing what you love--what you would want to be doing whether anyone paid you or not--well then, you don't have to watch the clock. Confucius said to choose a job that you love, and then you will never have to work a day in your life. There's this amazing feeling when you find a job that pays you to actually do what you want to be doing. So, I'm doing what I love--therefore, my job doesn't feel like a job at all. But there's another reason my job doesn't feel like a job: my job is, essentially, to be an active, supportive, and loving member of a family. This doesn't feel like a job to me--just a normal part of life. I spent the first eighteen and a half years of my life being part of a vibrant, struggling, chaotic, and loving family unit. This comes naturally.
When I moved away to college, I was still part of my family, but in a more removed way. I was a member, but from a distance. And the minute I moved, I started missing my family, and realizing just how much I had taken for granted. There's an inevitable loneliness that comes when you learn to live alone, or with a couple roommates....after you've lived in a house with six people whose actions, thoughts, emotions, and histories were shared in such close quarters. I love Sean, and we are incredibly happy together--we are completely happy in each others company, but to me--so often--our house feels empty. I especially feel this after I come home from a long day at work--where I slip right into the family dynamic and thrive in that environment. Sean and I have a family dynamic--it is just the family dynamic of two--which is far different from the family dynamic of 5 or 6 people, that I am used to. It's good for it to be just me and Sean right now. But I also can't WAIT until the day when our home is overflowing with children, and buzzing with life and activity. I also continue to love my job and enjoy all the moments I get to spend with these three kids--who have become family to me, and I to them simply by the sheer amount of time we spend together and the affection we share.
I love mornings when I take Vinny outside to wait for his mom to get back from driving carpool for her oldest child, so she can pick Vinny up and take him to school. Giuwels always tags along in her pajamas and we open the garage door and find the street half in shadow, half bursting with early morning sunlight. Vinny digs out a basketball from somewhere in the garage and starts shooting hoops, and Giuwels put her little hand in mine and says, "Come on, Carolyn, let's go sit in the sun." And we walk over to the large rocks that line their neighbor's yard, and she plays on the rocks and I sit on one, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight contrasting with the chill morning air. And everything is bright, and new, and the children are beautiful and precious, and this--to me--is happiness.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Christmas Cheer!
It's been raining in L.A. for days. Sean finished his finals last Thursday, and flew home on Monday for Christmas. I'm still in Los Angeles because I have to work through this coming Thursday. I have to confess that I was struggling with having a major pity party for myself about this week.
My husband gets to go home, and I have to stay here all alone and work four days in a row, and come home to an empty house infested with ants because of all the rain. And last year I got six weeks off for Christmas...Where's my Christmas break?????
These were some of the thoughts running through my head on Sunday evening as I prepared for work the next day, and Sean got ready to leave. I thought I was going to be miserable, but I temporarily forgot a couple things.
1. I forgot that it's pretty much hard for me to be miserable anywhere (except in Hollywood). Ever the optimist, I just LIKE enjoying myself, so I always try to have fun.
2. I forgot that the kids weren't going to be in school. This means that a ton of pressure is taken off both me and the kids, and better yet, it means that we get to relax and actually spend TIME together, which is wonderful because I love these kids!
And after only two days of working, I know that I wouldn't trade these days for anything in the world. There are special moments, hilarious situations, and inside jokes that make my whole 12 hour work day worth it in a split second. Like Monday morning, when Giuwels asked me if she had school that day. I told her no, and an enormous smile appeared on her face as she said...the good news slowly dawning on her..."That means we can PLAY!"
Yes, my dear, yes it does.
Giuwels has been so much more affectionate than usual, which is so sweet. She's always hugging me and wanting me to pick her up or hold her. Monday morning I told her that she needed to go get dressed for the day, and she said, "Ok, but first I want a hug!!!" and she wrapped her little arms around my neck and gave me the biggest hug ever.
Monday afternoon the four of us went to see Yogi Bear in 3-D...Haha, not my first choice of a movie, but hey, we got to get out of the house, walk around the festive mall, and relax in a movie theater for almost two hours. On the way to the mall, we were listening to Christmas music on the radio when Feliz Navidad came on...We listened for awhile, and then Vinny goes, "What the heck is he saying????" I told him that Feliz Navidad means Marry Christmas in Spanish, and he goes, "Ohhhh....I thought he was saying 'Release Naveda' like Naveda is a person who needs to be released." I'm not entirely sure why, but this sent all of us into gales of laughter--which only got louder when the next song "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" came on the radio and Vinny said, "Santa Claus is coming to town to release Naveda!" So that's our big Christmas joke for this year, along with the fact that whenever one of us does something particularly clever we say, "You're smarter than the average bear!"
Another thing I find so precious is Giuwel's fear of flushing toilets. She hates the loud noise they make. Luckily, the toilets at their house are completely silent, so no problems there. But when we're out and about we can run into difficulties. Usually she goes to the bathroom then gets up, walks as far away as she can and covers her ears while I flush the toilet for her. Yesterday at the mall, Vinny and Giuwels both had to go to the bathroom. The nearest department store was Nordstroms so we ducked in there to use their restrooms. Giuwels and I walked into a handicap stall together, I'm just standing there, happy as a lark, waiting to help her with whatever she needs when she says in a serious tone, "It's an automatic." At first I didn't even know what she was talking about, and then I see that, yes, the toilet is one of those new-fangled gadgets that flush automatically. These are the worst kind because Giuwels has no control over when they flush, so they catch her off guard and scare her. This precious five year old toilet connoisseur looks at me and says, "I'll just go at home, Carolyn." And, bless her heart, that's what she did.
We spent today making sugar cookies. Lots and lots of sugar cookies. I told Giuwels' friend Georgia's mom the other day that I was looking forward to Christmas Break so I could make cookies and do other fun stuff with the kids. She was like, "Wow, I'm glad you think making cookies is fun, I think it's so stressful." I can understand that--if you try to keep everyone in order and have the kitchen stay clean and the cookies turn out perfectly, then yes, it will be stressful. For better or for worse, I expect the most chaotic events when cooking anything with children, so I'm generally not upset when flour flies everywhere, and six grubby hands land in the dough before I remind them to wash their hands. Yes, Michael and Vinny both had to shower after our baking experience, but why not? We had a blast, and the kids made some amazing cookies!
I'm looking forward to tomorrow and then Thursday, and Thursday night I'm catching a plane to the Bay! I cannot wait!
My husband gets to go home, and I have to stay here all alone and work four days in a row, and come home to an empty house infested with ants because of all the rain. And last year I got six weeks off for Christmas...Where's my Christmas break?????
These were some of the thoughts running through my head on Sunday evening as I prepared for work the next day, and Sean got ready to leave. I thought I was going to be miserable, but I temporarily forgot a couple things.
1. I forgot that it's pretty much hard for me to be miserable anywhere (except in Hollywood). Ever the optimist, I just LIKE enjoying myself, so I always try to have fun.
2. I forgot that the kids weren't going to be in school. This means that a ton of pressure is taken off both me and the kids, and better yet, it means that we get to relax and actually spend TIME together, which is wonderful because I love these kids!
And after only two days of working, I know that I wouldn't trade these days for anything in the world. There are special moments, hilarious situations, and inside jokes that make my whole 12 hour work day worth it in a split second. Like Monday morning, when Giuwels asked me if she had school that day. I told her no, and an enormous smile appeared on her face as she said...the good news slowly dawning on her..."That means we can PLAY!"
Yes, my dear, yes it does.
Giuwels has been so much more affectionate than usual, which is so sweet. She's always hugging me and wanting me to pick her up or hold her. Monday morning I told her that she needed to go get dressed for the day, and she said, "Ok, but first I want a hug!!!" and she wrapped her little arms around my neck and gave me the biggest hug ever.
Monday afternoon the four of us went to see Yogi Bear in 3-D...Haha, not my first choice of a movie, but hey, we got to get out of the house, walk around the festive mall, and relax in a movie theater for almost two hours. On the way to the mall, we were listening to Christmas music on the radio when Feliz Navidad came on...We listened for awhile, and then Vinny goes, "What the heck is he saying????" I told him that Feliz Navidad means Marry Christmas in Spanish, and he goes, "Ohhhh....I thought he was saying 'Release Naveda' like Naveda is a person who needs to be released." I'm not entirely sure why, but this sent all of us into gales of laughter--which only got louder when the next song "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" came on the radio and Vinny said, "Santa Claus is coming to town to release Naveda!" So that's our big Christmas joke for this year, along with the fact that whenever one of us does something particularly clever we say, "You're smarter than the average bear!"
Another thing I find so precious is Giuwel's fear of flushing toilets. She hates the loud noise they make. Luckily, the toilets at their house are completely silent, so no problems there. But when we're out and about we can run into difficulties. Usually she goes to the bathroom then gets up, walks as far away as she can and covers her ears while I flush the toilet for her. Yesterday at the mall, Vinny and Giuwels both had to go to the bathroom. The nearest department store was Nordstroms so we ducked in there to use their restrooms. Giuwels and I walked into a handicap stall together, I'm just standing there, happy as a lark, waiting to help her with whatever she needs when she says in a serious tone, "It's an automatic." At first I didn't even know what she was talking about, and then I see that, yes, the toilet is one of those new-fangled gadgets that flush automatically. These are the worst kind because Giuwels has no control over when they flush, so they catch her off guard and scare her. This precious five year old toilet connoisseur looks at me and says, "I'll just go at home, Carolyn." And, bless her heart, that's what she did.
We spent today making sugar cookies. Lots and lots of sugar cookies. I told Giuwels' friend Georgia's mom the other day that I was looking forward to Christmas Break so I could make cookies and do other fun stuff with the kids. She was like, "Wow, I'm glad you think making cookies is fun, I think it's so stressful." I can understand that--if you try to keep everyone in order and have the kitchen stay clean and the cookies turn out perfectly, then yes, it will be stressful. For better or for worse, I expect the most chaotic events when cooking anything with children, so I'm generally not upset when flour flies everywhere, and six grubby hands land in the dough before I remind them to wash their hands. Yes, Michael and Vinny both had to shower after our baking experience, but why not? We had a blast, and the kids made some amazing cookies!
I'm looking forward to tomorrow and then Thursday, and Thursday night I'm catching a plane to the Bay! I cannot wait!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Just one of the many reasons I love my job:
Vinny: Carolyn, my parents have a lot of money.
Me: Oh really? How you do know that?
Vinny: Well, my mom's been to the bank about a million times to get money, and she hasn't run out yet!
Me: Oh really? How you do know that?
Vinny: Well, my mom's been to the bank about a million times to get money, and she hasn't run out yet!
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