Page 40

Doing It For The Kids

Being a good role model, not so easy at times.

Recently I had the pleasure of attending a school function for the girls and then joined the family for dinner at a restaurant afterwards. I was really touched to have been invited out to join the family. It’s nice every now and then to be reminded that the family (but the kids mainly) really do appreciate my contributions.

The school function just happened to fall on a day that I wasn’t working. I know what you’re thinking, as a nanny you actually got a day off?? But I did. So I took the time to put a little more thought into my appearance. I went to a little more effort than the usual ensemble of thrown together clothes that 95% of the time is covered in various forms of dog slobber and/or baby-sick by the end of the day. I even ended up wearing boots that had a bit of a heel. Nothing out of the usual to me, but it seems I made quite an impression on the girls.

Shortly after all three girls arrived home from the school event they mysteriously, and voluntarily I might add, disappeared up to their respective rooms to change for dinner. As The Twins descended the two flights of stairs down from their rockin’ top floor pad (it’s going to be so perfect for when they morph into moody teenagers) I couldn’t help but notice they seemed to be negotiating the stairs with quite some difficulty. A closer look informed me that they’d managed to put together a clothing look that kind of resembled my own outfit, complete with some serious high heels (OK they weren’t kitten heels but wedges can still be gnarly!). I smiled and helped them both down the last few steps, complimenting their grown-up outfits and not thinking much more of it. That was until Miss Charlie attempted to descend the stairs herself a few minutes later. She’d managed to change into the most sparkly outfit I’d ever seen. It was so shiny I had to blink and wished I had sunglasses to shield my eyes. Even worse were the shoes she’d managed to squeeze into, should a six-year-old even own high heels? Surely there’s an issue of morality at play here? I quickly took her hand and marched her back upstairs to her bedroom where I sweet talked her into moderating her outfit just slightly into something a little more age appropriate.

We all enjoyed a lovely family dinner, lots of laughs and bubbling conversation (of course everyone talking over the top of each other and vying for attention, that’s normal right?). As I bid them adieu and made my way home, I began to think that I really must pay more attention to how I conduct myself. Having mainly worked with boys in previous families, I’ve not really had the experience of being a true role model. Yes I’ve maintained and upheld a code of ethics, instilled rules and decent behaviour onto them and lead by example. I’ve played devil’s advocate at times and moderated arguments of “right” and wrong”. But I’ve never had to think about my actions as a female, as a woman, as a big sister and how this might influence the young girls around me. I was reminded that I am now a role model to these girls; Miss Charlie at six and The Twins at 11 look up to me.

So girls, I gladly accept the role as “mentor”. I hope to do you proud and exceed your expectations.

And a little word of advice from me to you, just something I’ve experienced from time to time:

High heels hurt your feet!

They really do. Yes they make our legs look pretty and give much-needed height at times, but sometimes they’re just not worth it. So try to hold off on them as long as possible, ballet flats look just as cute. Oh and one other thing, a classy woman never ever takes her heels off and walks bare feet. Never ever, no matter how much your feet hurt. Just don’t do it. Just smile and wave girls, smile and wave.

Under house arrest on a rainy day

Putting a kink in my plans…

It’s a rainy miserable day here today. Ordinarily I’d kind of like it, an excuse to stay inside the house and do nothing much at all, an opportunity to do a little more uni work than “nanny” work. But I’m not feeling it today. My alarm went off at 6am this morning, complete with a reminder to get out of bed and go for a run. I’d deliberately put my phone on the other side of the room so that I had to get out of bed to turn it off. I’d succeeded in achieving the first part, the getting out bed part. Except for the fact that I promptly got back into bed. And there went my plans for an early morning run. Awesome.

‘Never mind’ I thought as I raced to work with only a few minutes to spare (naturally I had not thought to set another alarm as I sleepily jumped back into bed), I’d go for a run later and take Bubba along with me. It made sense in theory, an attainable goal. Except for the fact that the rain decided to return after weeks of sunny, hot days that made us all think summer had come really early this year. This was the first hiccup to my newly formed plans and not long after came the second. Before I knew it I had found myself stuck inside under what seemed like house arrest.

One of The Twins had decided she was going to be “sick” today. Ordinarily I’d be caring and full of concern and waiting on her hand and food, if it weren’t for the fact that this was not an out of the ordinary type occurrence. It seems that Immy has developed a trend of suddenly falling sick right before she’s supposed to leave for school in the morning. Like literally, she’s jumping up and down and bubbly and chatting my ear off and then 10 minutes before she needs to get the bus she’s suddenly on the couch clutching her stomach in pain and begging to stay home.

So I’m just going to call it, FAKER!

Putting my reservations towards the validity of her ailments aside, it’s started to make me think. Is she facing some tough times at school? Is she fighting with friends or in the process of changing groups? Is she being subjected to bullying? Is she experiencing some kind of anxiety that is making her feel sick in the stomach and giving her stress headaches? Are The Twins separated at school, do they share different interests? This would be a surprise seeing as they’re practically inseparable at home but nonetheless a valid prospect. Is there a particular teacher giving her a tough time? If she were a few years older then maybe her desire to stay home would be much more realistic. She’d no doubt have copious amounts of homework and assignments and be facing the torment of boys and girls getting all mushy, the bitchy girls and the popular girls and all of the other horrible stuff that goes on in high school.

So instead of getting all worked up that she threw a spanner in the works for my plans today, I decided to spend some quality girl time with her. It seems maybe she could use a friend and someone to talk to that’s not Mum and Dad. Because let’s face it. No girl wants to talk to their Mum and Dad about these kinds of things. Whatever it is, I hope we get to the bottom of it now before she hits high school and things get a lot trickier to deal with.

What are your thoughts? Is it normal for 11-year-old girls whom are star students to want to skip school?

Shine Bright Like A Diamond

Shiny things, are best when small. And pure. And in small packages.

I always look forward to the 3pm pick up. Even though it means that the day is all but over, that the witching hour will be soon upon us and that I can completely forget about trying to complete any unfinished jobs from earlier in the day. That half hour period when I pick Miss Charlie up from school is always the best.

Together we make up a convoy of pram & baby, bouncing, jubilant puppy dog pulling on her lead, human pack-horse carrying the too-heavy school bags and various other school related paraphernalia and finally, Miss Charlie dragging her feet along behind. It’s a slow progression down the road from school to home with stops along the way to indulge in an afternoon treat at the milk bar, maybe a run through the park with the dog and whatever else takes her fancy. Usually she chatters away about all of the new things she learnt at school that day, often amazing me with some new form or concept towards life and its inherent values. I have to admit, and I’m not at all biased, she’s a pretty switched on six-year-old.

This afternoon was no different. As we wound our way through the mums and kids along the foot path en route to the park, Miss Charlie ducked and weaved and successfully jumped her way to the front whilst I was caught trying to manoeuvre the pram and bags without tripping over my feet and the dog. She then rather rambunctiously announced to all those within about a 2km radius (kids don’t often understand the concept of quiet, tactful voices) that:

“she loved being little.. you can fit past everyone and never get squashed. Fat people can’t do that, their bums are too big!”

Well speaking from someone who is also pretty damn little, I can completely understand where she’s coming from with this one. Except, I have to admit that her timing for this loud outburst was somewhat lacking… we’d just bypassed a large family whom looked as though they could do with a little less t.v. time and a little more playground time.

– Oh and also, purely from an observational point of view: tights, are definitely not pants. Just saying.

And so I quickly chimed in to Charlie’s rescue, attempting to perhaps ease her statement into safer grounds. I proceeded to tell her something that I’ve been told by all and sundry for most of my life, but most often from my most beloved Nanna: “Good things come in small packages.”

They sure do, the best things. To which she countered,

“Yeah, like diamonds.”

Nice one Charlie, you sure hit the nail on the head with that wisdom…

Daily Rant: Grocery shop woes

Shopping road rules: stick to the left lane and follow the flow of the traffic at all times. Simple, easy, of course that’s a no brainer – you would think. Sadly, it is not to be.

High up on my to-do list today was the grocery shop. With so many mouths to feed in this house, the grocery shop is majorly important. It’s essential to ensuring that the household runs smoothly. It’s neither a weekly shop nor a set day shop. It’s done whenever possible, as regularly as required and by anyone who can fit it in. It just so happened that today the task came across my desk.. Lucky. Me.

Bubba and I had a busy morning out and about running errands. Yes we may have squeezed in just enough time to indulge in a little coffee break from time to time and yes we had a meander through the park, taking the time to enjoy a lovely sunny morning. But that’s not to say we weren’t busy. As the morning drew to a close, I started to check my watch just a little more frequently. One of the most crucial factors to my day is that I must always follow the clock. If one thing goes wrong, the entire day could snow ball and then suddenly kids don’t get picked up (anyone who’s had to endure the disapproving looks from judgemental teachers stuck on pick up duty will understand this predicament), dinner doesn’t get made, homework gets forgotten about etc etc and suddenly you’re feeling like the worst nanny ever. Added to my increasing sense of urgency was that Bubba had wanted an early mid morning feed, something I hadn’t planned for considering she’d only been fed not too much earlier.

Well that was mistake #1 for the day – failing to prepare for the unexpected.

From that point on, all bets were off. It was a ‘hit the ground running and hope for the best’ mode of attack. As Bubba and I entered the grocery store I calculated that we had roughly 25 minutes to dash around the aisles, meticulously crossing the items from the list and desperately filling the insides of a very wonky, wobbly trolley. I figured that this was a very realistic goal. Bubba usually loves being carried around strapped to my chest in the baby bjorn. She gets to see the world and be warm at the same time. Who wouldn’t be happy with that!

Except for today it seems. Today it wasn’t to be. I could tell by the little grizzles coming out of her and the ever escalating levels of sighs that I was going to lose a good chunk of my time, my 25 minutes was going to be cut short. I re-calculated and estimated that I probably had 10 minutes less than I would have liked to race around the shops before she turned into a crying, screaming baby complete with balled up fists of rage. Yep, that’s what hunger does to you it seems. Although I should be used to it, from my experience it seems as though that behaviour pretty much remains the same over all the ages from little kids to big kids (adults).

I upped the anti and turned my shopping trolley into a personal body guard, pushing my way through the throngs of lycra clad ladies strolling absentmindedly down the toiletries aisle, weaving in and out of the old men dutifully following behind their counter parts along the frozen food section and selfishly pushing other trolleys slightly to the side so that I could jump up and grab the giant bottle of juice that of course just had to be up on the top shelf and slightly out of reach.

What I didn’t factor into my time limit allocation was the delay we would incur as Every. Single. Woman. (no matter the age) felt the absolute need to stop and glance and coo and gahh over little bubba.

“Yes, she is just adorable isn’t she.”

“Yes, that pink little jump suit is perfect for her, so cute.”

“Ohhh, ahhh, yes she is so very little, such an angel. I do love her yes.”

“Yes, I am very young”…. thank you so much for pointing out even though I clearly don’t need your judgement.

“Yes, she is a little bit grizzly isn’t she.”

(Gee I wonder why that is. It couldn’t possibly be because she’s hungry and I can’t seem to make my way through the shops without being stopped by every nosy so-and-so, regardless of the fact that I clearly am conducting my errands with a sense of urgency!!!)

Whilst it really is lovely to see the joy in the other people’s faces when they sneak a peak at cute little babies, there really is a time and a place. Out in the park whilst we’re having a leisurely stroll, sure. Be my guest. Let’s make small talk and pass the time away. At the local coffee shop as we’re waiting in line for our coffees, sure thing. Fire away, go all gooey eyed until your heart’s content.

But at the supermarket. When I’m in a hurry. When I have a shopping list the size of the 7th Harry Potter book. When I have a baby who’s becoming increasingly vocal and can’t seem to soothe despite the very fact that the connection from my body warmth should be doing just that. When I’m losing the fight with a trolley who has a mind of it’s own and seems insistent upon rolling off the left as though it needs a new wheel alignment. When my phone is ringing and I can’t find it in my handbag, not to mention my keys and my purse to pay for all of the goods and as the cashier glares at me for holding up the queue. No. It is not ok. Not ok to stop and chat. Smile and offer a glimmer of knowing and understanding, sure. Keep to the left and control your own trolley, sure. Jump in front of me at the queue when you’ve only got two items, sure. I won’t mind.

But be warned: the next time I find myself boxed in on all sides by shopping trolleys and people absentmindedly staring off into space as I politely say “excusez-moi”, you all better watch out! This trolley most certainly can and will be used as a weapon and I sure know how to use it. Your ankles will get a good beating and your toes will get run over. You will be rammed out of the way as though we’re playing dodgem cars.