They Said What?! Archives - Nanny Shecando

A Modern Day Nanny

I have something a little different to share with you today. Because I know I can get a little ho hum with the monotony of routine and normality, I figured I’d mix it up a little. Today I’m excited to introduce the very first guest blog post here at Nanny Shecando. I’m handing the reigns over to a fellow nanny friend to bring you today’s instalment. Did I mention I’m all about promoting the nanny community? Click this link for more details. Marika has some stories to tell and a different perspective to share about the #nannylife.

Marika is an Australian based nanny working for a happening family in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs. With three kids under her wing she’s sure got her hands full! Like myself, she fell into this role as a way to escape the dull drums of the typical workforce. And after reading her post, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s safe to say that Marika is loving the change of pace. (Even if the #nannylife does have it’s share of ups and downs). So Marika, over to you!

Hello fellow nannies, babysitters, and au pairs. Or to put it more accurately, fellow referees, taxi drivers, UN peace keeping officials, nurses, paramedics, policeman and dictators. At this point, I’m sure you’re nodding along emphatically to the many titles we carry under the over arching umbrella of a nanny. And whilst we’re on the topic of worldwide recognised terms, I want to point out that they’re not always so accurate. Because sometimes these three main terms simply don’t properly describe the roller coaster ride of melodrama that is the life of a nanny.

Nanny or Babysitter?

Take the word “nanny” . Does the cliché of a stout uniformed lady, complete with thick Scottish or northern English accent pushing an old-fashioned pram around a manicured garden come to mind? Or do you think of Jo frost (aka SuperNanny) who seemingly solves a family’s entire issues within a single episode. She simply throws around her that’s unasseptabool catch-phrase and everything sorts itself out. If only, right!

Although, it’s true that within the first weeks of my current nanny job I was automatically and frequently screaming out unacceptable as a totally involuntary reflex. I’m certain that in a couple of hundred years time anthropologists and geneticists will conclude that the word must be imprinted on the nanny-survival part of our DNA. Please tell me you have a catch phrase you use on the kids too!

What’s more, suffice to say that unless you are looking after a small baby that sleeps like those precious angels in the Johnson & Johnson adverts, there is very little “sitting” in babysitting.

Oh La La, Au Pair!

As for the word “au pair”, it originates from the French term meaning “on par with” or “equal to”. This of course refers to the post WWII societal changes that led to those employed as joint child carers and housekeeps to be considered as part of the family. Yep that’s right, bye bye “The Help”, hello “Mary Poppins”. Except for the fact that in today’s working environment of time-poor 60+ hour working weeks, the term au pair more accurately describes your role as being a substitute parent.

What’s more, this definition is all well and good, except for the fact that in English the word “pair” has an entirely different meaning. In English, it connects to words like harmony, partnership, co-operation and the notion of matching up. If any of this describes your reality, can I please just strangle you in a fit of jealous rage? Or trade places. Either works.

My Nanny Life

So I guess you’re wondering who I am. My name is Marika and I’m a nanny. I’ve been with my current family for almost two years after making a major career change. The family of three kids, aged 6, 8 and 11 is a welcome change from the corporate rat-race and office politics that I’d been dealing with for years. Because I’ll be honest, dealing with kids was more appealing than dealing with immature adults acting like school-yard bullies who’d never surpassed their childhood counterparts. At least with my kids, when you get to the end of your tether you can put a stop to their misbehaviour with one simple yet effective threat. I’m talking about the classic “I’m cancelling x,y x”. Something that normally doesn’t get you anywhere in the workplace, or so I’ve heard.

Which brings me to my next point. Kids have come a long way in terms of brazen emotional manipulation. Putting frogs in pockets and pine cones on seats as a “welcome” hazing to the new nanny? Feigning tears of regret when passive-aggressively called out on it? Amateurs! These days it’s all about the mind games. Now it’s all psychological torture, drama, intrigue, and political double-crossing. And that’s just the car ride home from school.

Another thing, a spoonful of sugar does not make the medicine go down. In fact, a spoonful of sugar leads to another spoonful of sugar. Pretty soon you’ve got a drug like dependence to the entire snack aisle at Coles. Next up, predictable post sugar-rush mood swings, tears and temper tantrums. Fun times. By the way, you know those chocolate stains on the back seat of the car and mutated cheese sticks? Get used to them, they’re there to stay.

But as challenging as this gig is, I wouldn’t trade if for anything else right now. Because honestly, what other job gives you innocently unrehearsed and yet laugh out loud entertainment?

“Does she believe in God?” “I think she does… because every day she’s always screaming OH MY G…” or “She’s broke. That means she has almost no money in her account”. Well hey, at least they’re paying attention to what I’m saying. Or listening to the youngest singing a made up song in the bath, having clearly been taught the story of Easter during his religious studies in class: “Don’t kill Jesus… otherwise they’ll have to call the police…”

At any given moment you can hear fragments of earnest conversation like this (and most times it’s about yourself) that only kids can come up with.

The Take-Away

I think though, my favourite part of the nanny job is the ongoing supply of handcrafted gifts the girls make for me. My jewellery is well stocked care of these bright loom bands from Miss11. And my storage has had a modern update by way of this paper box from Miss9. Whether handmade or a simple sticker from their precious collections, they make me feel loved and special.

Those daily melodramatic dramas? Totally worth it!

Until next time, stay sane my fellow super nannies and parents alike!

What’s your perception of a nanny? Do you think Mary Poppins or Mrs Doubtfire? Have you ever employed a nanny? Oh and Mrs X in the Nanny Diaries sound a little far fetched, not at all!

For further enquiries, suggestions, or to express general expressions of empathy, you can contact Nanny McTreehugger via her name (all one word) at gmail.

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This Six Year Old Calls People Fat

Fat People Can’t Fit Past Things Without Getting Squashed

[Their bums are too big!]

What happens when your six-year-old has no tact filter? I wither into the ground in embarrassment under the debilitating stare of evil eyes as she calls people fat. Yes, my six-year-old Miss Charlie called someone “fat” – to their face! And I die from embarasment. Awkward!

And she seems so sweet and innocent here right?

For most people, the arrival of 3 o’clock signals a change in the day. It marks the end of lunch time, the end of having ‘all the time in the world’ and marks the arrival of impending deadlines. For BossMum, 3pm marks the winding down of her day at the office, meaning she’ll soon be back with her babies. For The Twins, it means they are released from the confines of rigid lessons and join the creativity and self-expression that is ballet. To Beansie, the beloved family dog, it surely hints at the chance to stretch her legs at the park. If she’s lucky, it might also mean the opportunity to snaffle a momentarily forgotten sandwich or to chase after a too friendly bird.

For me, 3pm signals that any task not already finished will have to be left forgotten until the next day. Which lands me straight into the Witching Hour and puts me on the back foot before tomorrow has even arrived. For MissCharlie, it marks the beginning of an afternoon filled with unforeseen adventures.

In an effort to see the afternoon transition in an ease of smiles and giggles, our first stop is usually the milk bar to refuel with something sugary, milky or ice-creamy. Something that is definitely not healthy, but entirely tasty.

The next stop is the park, where she and Beansie wrestle around on the grass sharing I missed you so much slobbery kisses. It is where Baby Viv will toddle around, too inquisitive to rest her newly active but tired legs. The park is also the place where I will steal a self-indulgent go on the swings, indulging a childish side that I’m too fond of to part with.

All of this usually occurs under the excited conversations of Miss6 as she informs me of the day’s events. All that she’s learnt, all that she didn’t like, all that she saw in the school yard and all that she mischievously over heard throughout the day. Consequently, she often teaches me a few things whilst she’s at it, even if it is as simple as ‘I must not eavesdrop on conversations I’m not going to like the outcome of’.

This particular afternoon’s routine was no different, save for the slightly embarrassing occurrence of a loudly spoken faux pas. On Miss Charlie’s part of course!

As we wound our way through the throngs of mums and kids along the footpath en route to the park, Miss Charlie ducked and weaved until she successfully found herself out in front. I however, was caught trying to manoeuvre the pram, school bags and ice creams without tripping over the dog who’d wound her leash around my legs. Well played Beansie, because that will get you to the park quicker for sure.

MissCharlie then rather rambunctiously announced to all those within a 2km radius:

‘I love being little, I can fit past everyone and never get squashed!
Fat people can’t though, their bums are too big!’

Tact, what tact? I cringed. Oh MissCharlie, you and that mouth of yours. ‘Whatever will I do with you?‘. Of course, lacking in height myself, I completely agreed with her. I know all too well the advantages to being able to slip past people easily.

However, despite my understanding, her timing couldn’t have been any worse if she’d planned it. As I received the full force of evil eyes and disapproving glares from the family she’d just overtaken, a family who by chance just happened to be quite [large], I attempted to jump to her rescue. If not to save my own hide.

Easing her into safer territory, I announced as equally loud,

Good things come in small packages, just like you and me. Though not everyone can be so lucky.

To which she countered,

‘Yeah, like diamonds’.

Can’t argue with that wisdom now can I.

How to wither on the spot at the mercy of an evil eye; fun times in the #nannylife!

Anyone else died from embarrassment at the hands of their children lately?

1 Simple Tip For Travelling To Australia

A Five Year Old Talks Illegal Immigrants & Travelling To Australia

They’ll need a bigger boat!

I had a dinner date the other night. It involved some good food, a glass of something chilled and some vibrant conversation. These ingredients are typically my preferred way to spend a Friday night. Classy but casual clothes, a civilised atmosphere, and the focus being more upon the company and the conversation as opposed to the price of the tequila shots and how fast we can get drunk before we get cut off. Sigh. The only down side was that my company happened to be quite a few years below the legal drinking age. Bummer.

Resignedly, I substituted a glass of crisp Spanish white wine for a sippy cup of grape juice and passed over a lovely fresh salad for greasy pizza. Ham and Pineapple of course. Despite the changes, we still managed to laugh so hard we almost fell off our stools and successfully tipped over our drinks on more than one occasion. Falling over, spilling drinks, and slurring words is a standard Friday night by all accounts right?

In all seriousness, it was actually a pretty awesome Friday night. Chatting with the little munchkins, JP and CP, was highly entertaining. Especially considering we uncovered something vitally important, 1 simple and quick tip that I’m about to share with you, about how best to travel to Australia (if you’re an illegal immigrant per se).

I had jumped at the chance to do a last-minute babysit for these two rascals because I hadn’t seen them in ages, they had escaped the Australian summer for the cool ski slopes of the crisp American winter, the lucky ducks! Which of course meant that I had almost forgotten what it was like to be constantly challenged by little minds who know better and whom are fiercely independent.

In between crying over spilt juice and fighting over the bigger piece of pizza, we discussed whatever random thoughts popped in to their minds at the time. Apparently, this time we were embarking onto the somewhat touchy subject of illegal immigrants, because 5 and 8 year olds have opinions too.

Australia is a very lucky country. We’re an island which makes it a very safe place to live, said JP.

Plus all of our cities are along the coast which means that the Army and Navy and Police can easily protect us, said CP.

Not sure about this one. In theory, I would have thought it would be easier if we were all inland. But props for contributing!

We don’t have many immigrants (pronounced: im – i – grens) in our country. Not as many as America. They’re not an island like us, said JP.

That’s right, they have Canada and Mexico on each side. (Geography seemed a safer topic than to speculate on the number of illegal immigrants).

They need a boat to come here to Australia. A big boat, not a dinghy, said CP.

I stifled a giggle as it reminded me of a classic insurance advert: Charter Boat, What Charter Boat? Yes well sometimes their boats are big, but they’re very old. It depends where they’re coming from too, I countered. Where do you think they’re coming from?

..[pause]..[blank look]..[ignore the question]..

Yeah! That’s why a lot of them get rescued by the Navy. They don’t have good boats and they don’t get very far, said JP. A dinghy wouldn’t even get half way. Not like our boat. Our boat is really big. We go to Fiji all the time in our boat!

Right, as you do. And yes, that last comment came from Miss5, the not so tactful CP. Just an ordinary and typical Friday night in the #nannylife: getting it all out on the table on the topic of boating to Fiji, opinions, America and illegal immigrants. Like I said, ordinary!

When has your little one brought up a dicey topic like this? How did you handle it?

How To Find Out If You’re Pregnant

So I pee on this stick right?

But how will that find out if you’re pregnant. How will I know if I have a baby growing inside me?

How to find out if you’re pregnant; the question everybody just loves to hear out of the mouth of a 6-year-old.

Miss Charlie and I were walking home from school recently and having a little tête à tête catchup. This kind of thing is a rare occurrence now that The Twins are at the same school. Miss Charlie much prefers to walk home with her cooler, older, big sisters instead of her now cast aside but once cool Nanny (even if it does mean she misses out on wrangling an ice cream out of me)!

I had brought Viv along to get some fresh air after a couple of rainy days inside. Perched on my hip, she babbled away to no one in particular and waved her arms around a lot; ahh the sweet life of a baby. We squashed close together at one point to side step a rather large dog and it’s owner (consequently, that saying about dogs and their owners was proved to be true) and Viv stole the opportunity to tug rather forcefully on Miss Charlie’s hair.

As usual she complained, rubbed her head and scolded the baby; who just giggled with a look on her face to say, who me? Which of course made us both laugh too. She then said,

I love having a baby sister, and I love that it’s Vivienne. She’s so cute and happy and funny! I was hoping for a baby sister even before Mummy knew she was pregnant. Getting pregnant is so disgusting!

At this point I nearly died. Are we really going to have the Birds and the Bees talk now! I thought this was just an average mid-week afternoon, must we have it so soon? And can’t I at least power up on another coffee so that I’m alert and ready to dodge the tricky questions and divert over to something else? Please, I silently begged the gods. However it seemed I was let off the hook. She’d already had the talk and was ready to fire away about it. It was clear as soon as we delved into it that she might not have had quite the talk I thought she’d had.

You have to pee on a thermometer to get pregnant. That’s so gross!

OK. Air goes in, hold, air goes out. This isn’t going to be as bad as I thought. Yes well, it does look like a thermometer doesn’t it, I said. But it’s actually not a thermometer. It tells you if you are pregnant and going to have a baby. Then you should always go to the doctor to do some more tests and make sure. I was deftly avoiding having to properly explain the difference between getting pregnant and being pregnant.

You have to wait a few minutes and then if two lines come up, it means you’re pregnant. When mummy did it, it felt like ages to wait for the lines. It took forever. I was wishing for it to hurry up!

Yes, I’m fairly certain that those, ‘no less than 3 minutes but no more than 8 minutes,’ feel like an eternity to everyone!

Then mum showed me and we were both jumping up and down we were so happy. But I was also a bit grossed out that she was holding a thermometer she had just peed on. Eww!

Ignoring her thermometer quip again, I asked why she wanted to have a baby sister?

Because now I’m not the youngest anymore, and I’ll always be older than her. Even when she’s 6.. [pause, stop, think] I won’t be 6 anymore, I’ll be.. [pause] .. much older!

Hmm, I guess we need to work on those Maths skills little Miss. But I’ll happily take that little compromise. We can work on the adding and subtracting and leave the heavy stuff, like ‘But what did Daddy do to make the thermometer show two lines,’ to another day. A day when you’re much, much older. And yes, she did just ask me that question. How to find out if you’re pregnant; fun times in the #nannylife!

Have you ever had to handle a tricky conversation like this? How did it go?

More They Said What?!

Do You Know Your Enemy?

I’d be a whale

#Disclaimer: reader’s discretion is advised – this post contains potentially offensive material

In the Summer School holidays I took Miss Charlie to the Sydney Sea Life Aquarium. Similarly as to when the BF came to the zoo with us, thankfully my mum was in town and came along for the ride also. Meaning she could toddle on behind with Viv leaving me to be able to give my 110% attention to Miss Charlie. We raced around the Aquarium, stopping briefly to read the sign posts and to complete the quizzes. But mostly, we just couldn’t wait to see all of the animals. It was a great day out and we all learnt something new. Always a bonus!

We were sitting by the water having an ice cream afterwards when Miss Charlie posed an interesting question: If you could be any sea animal, what would you be and why? (Although perhaps she should have said, do you know your enemy?)