Some days you own the mountain. Some days the mountain owns you. I know that’s not the actual saying, but it should be. Because today— the mountain kicked my butt. (The mountain being a variety of tasks associated with parenthood).
I was feeling SO on top of things earlier this week. (I mean, come on, I taught my kid how to take epic selfies). I had finished most of the items on my summer to do list and was about to cross off my final (and arguably most major) item— finding a nanny.
(Warning: I’m about to cannonball into a pool of self-pity.)
Without getting into too much detail, I found the perfect nanny. She was the first person I interviewed (after many hours of sifting through painful online profiles and Facebook posts). We clicked. She and Arabella clicked. She and Baxter clicked. I had 100% confidence in her and couldn’t wait for her to be part of our family. (I was pretty sure she felt the same). So I waited a reasonable amount of time, checked her references and offered her the job before she even met Jarmon. She accepted— and I was sure I had hit the nanny jackpot. Why did people make it seem like finding childcare was so hard??? I learned about eight hours later when she backed out because a family that lived closer made her a better offer.
I probably could have made a counter offer (a “bid war” as they call it in nanny land), but did I really want to try and convince someone they should take the bus to my house all winter when they had the opportunity to just walk down the street? Selfishly, yes… but no, because that would make me a crappy person.
The reality is that finding a nanny is a special kind of online dating Hell. Endless options. Everyone constantly looking for the next best thing. You sift through hundreds of profiles deciding whether to “keep” them or “say no thanks.” Then you start chatting, only to realize that they either greatly exaggerated or flat out lied about their experience and/or availability. (And that’s after you weed out the 95% who can’t write a grammatically correct sentence). I wish I could share some of the messages here, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. Of the four interviews I set up, two cancelled at the last minute. The number of conversations that fizzled through unanswered texts mid-conversation is mind-boggling. These are nanny jobs, people. You are applying to BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY KID. Buying my parents weekly plane tickets to Chicago is looking better and better. (And probably cheaper too).
If you aren’t tired of my whining just yet— stay tuned for the Baxter problem. His less than stellar behavior has continued to the point that I saw fit to call his trainer for help. When he was a puppy we sent him to a two week boot camp while we were on our honeymoon, but since he was (until recently) such a good pup we never did any follow up lessons. Well, today his trainer scolded me for that and scared the crap out of me. She basically said to take him to a shelter and start over with a new dog. I told her that wasn’t an option, so she gave me a list of things to do including (but not limited to) kicking him out of our bed, keeping him off the couch and not letting him anywhere near Arabella. (He was sleeping peacefully in the Dock-A-Tot– as photographed below– as she was telling me all of this.) Have you ever tried telling a lap dog that they can’t sit in your lap? It goes about as well as you would expect.
On a lighter note, it would appear that my hometown Walmart isn’t the only place that sells furry adult onesies these days. I found these gems at my local Target today.
Also, my husband wore white gloves and Saran Wrap to bed last night. Doctor’s orders to treat some eczema on his hands and legs.
I told him he looked like Mickey Mouse. I also told him I was suspicious that the doctor was trying to help him plot my murder. Then again, if he really wanted me dead— he could just unleash the killer 12-lb cavapoo we already have in the house and no one would suspect a thing.
Trina Orlando 