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The Nanny Bloggeries

Well, I officially have a nanny. Me!

Next I shall get a butler, or perhaps a stable boy, and then I can finally put my feet up, make some spa appointments and lament how terribly stressful managing one's domestic staff can be and honestly, if one more chambermaid gets knocked up by the gardener I may have to huff some opium and lie down, my heavens.

I actually placed an ad for a part-time "babysitter," but everyone who replied called herself a "nanny." And since I have personally seen what happens when some old businessman calls his administrative assistant a "secretary," I am going with "nanny."

(Also because I am beyond obsessive re: semantics, like this one time? We took my brother and his family out for dinner here in D.C., and they kept talking about their trip to the "Indian museum," which was really the Native American museum, which, okay, but we were at AN INDIAN RESTAURANT, where one would THINK the distinction would be at its most obvious, and aaaahhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeee.)

ANYWAY.

I now have a nanny three afternoons a week. The constant white-noise buzz of rising anxiety that I've had humming in my ears for the past two months is gone, replaced by the sound of someone else referring to my baby as her little monkey downstairs. The dog and cat are overjoyed that the computer is their only competition for my lap, because at least it doesn't pull on their ears or poke its fingers in their nostrils.

Prior to like, today, my mornings are structured around Getting the Child to Nap. And then the minute the Child does fall asleep, I morph into a whirlwhind of frenetic panic -- SHOWER! LUNCH! NO TIME FOR LUNCH! MUST WORK! MUST WRITE! SHUT UP DOG! SHUUUUT UUUUP. (Noah: waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh) OH GODDAMMIT.

And then Noah is awake, and I've barely gotten anything done, but too bad, nothing else will get done until Jason gets home at 7, by which point I am drained and bleary-eyed and wondering if people will tolerate another half-assed photo essay or when my old boss asked for a certain important report by "tomorrow" if he really, REALLY meant "tomorrow" or if I could bullshit that I thought he said the "day after tomorrow" which was not my fault, it's been on HBO a lot is all.

But today? Because I knew the babysitter (nanny!) was coming at noon? And would be here ALL AFTERNOON, FOR AS LONG AS I WANTED? I ran the dishwasher. I put on eyeliner. I dusted the living room. I sprayed air freshener. I scrubbed away the Stain of Mystery that Jason and I have both been pretending to not see on the stairs.

I fucking organized our spice rack, people. And it was GLORIOUS.

When I first met Tessa (AMY: TESSA! IS IT OKAY IF I USE YOUR NAME ON TEH INTERWEB?) I kind of immediately knew she was my favorite candidate, but I remained stressed out about hiring her for DAYS, because hiring her meant having to tell the other three finalists that I wasn't hiring them. (Also, finalists? What, am I running my own reality show or something? Shut up, Amy.)

That doesn't sound like a big deal, but oh my God. Y'all. It killed me. I mean, I've rejected scores of job candidates in my day, but usually by a form letter that our team's adminstrative assistant mailed for me. And there's something different about grilling some fresh-faced college grad from behind a desk, wearing a power suit and pointy heels, with various awards and qualifications hanging behind my head, versus chatting up some super sweet young thing at Starbucks, in jeans and flip-flops, while Noah climbs over both of us in search of biscotti. Rejecting these girls felt like telling them that "after much thought and consideration, I've decided that I don't want you for a friend after all and possibly think you are a child molester."

Because I didn't think any of them were child molesters. I thought they were all lovely. But in the end, my gut said Tessa, and the most oft-repeated advice I received was to trust my gut. (AMY'S GUT: I WOULD ALSO LIKE SOME CHEESE NIPS.)

(Hilarious side-story: Tessa, like any smart person, promptly left our interview to go Google-stalk me, and stumbled upon this entry. Which she then talked about on her MySpace page, which showed up on HollowSquirrel's stats, which she then emailed to me, which I then emailed Tessa about because she seemed a little thrown by my sarcasm and thought that I thought that she was some kind of baby-shaking, balcony-dangling, bitch-slapping monster. And while she immediately assumed that she was officially out of the running for the job after writing about me on her blawwwwg, the whole crazy thing made her so crazy endearing to me that I hired her on the spot, because I have a deep affection for people who compulsively document their lives on the Internet, plus I ALREADY HAD HER BLOG URL, NO NANNY DIARIES FOR YOU, MWA HA HA.)

(But seriously. I am a cool boss. We're going to watch Dr. Phil together AND I totally intend to buy a case of Raspberry Snapple just for her.)

Of course, the only part of this arrangement that's killing me is that it's temporary. Tessa returns to school in the fall, and while I did have a few applicants that were available past August, they could only agree to work as long as we would still live where we do now, near the Metro, in the city.

Which. Um. We won't.

(DUN DUN DUUUUUN.)

We're moving. To Virginia. Where they still grow tobacco or whatever the hell.

Virgin. Ia. To a house with a yard. That we haven't found yet, obviously, as our place isn't even close to being ready to sell yet (you know we still never officially finished our kitchen? it is true. our cabinets have no door handles and there are still large holes in the wall.), and God knows what kind of real estate market downturn nightmare we face when it is. ("My goodness, this loft is LOVELY. It's PERFECT. I will pay you FOUR DOLLARS, plus some apples.")

Anyway. I don't want to think about now. I will think about that the day after tomorrow. Today I have to go tell Tessa that our toilet doesn't really flush all the time, and that she better not write about that on MySpace.

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Apropos of nothing in this post, except wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Comments

Julie

Yay for the fabulous new nanny!

Yay for Virginia! I promise not to get all stalk-y until we manage to make a trip out to visit my parents (who are in Oakton), and then I will start hassling you and Nancy (Mom-Ma'am-Me) to meet at Tysons 2 for some hardcore shopping and liquid lunch.

Speaking of lunch, didja have to mention Indian? I've been craving for weeks. Must get babysitter. Oops, I mean nanny.

Heather

You know, I'm a Virginia-ner and recently moved to Boston from the Williamsburg area. I totally miss it because my sister's still near there, but would never move back unless it was in Richmond. Seriously, the 'burbs outside of Richmond totally kick ass, that is if you can handle the whole 2 lane highway and monster trucks. And cows. And the smell of cowshit.

But the shopping has improved a billion percent, and believe it or not, it's quite a livable region. Don't give into moving to NOVA... move further south, close to the fun and cows.

Jenn

Yay for NOVA! My vote is Burke--we have a house on the market next door--killer backyard cookouts! Woo hoo! The burbs rock! We welcome you!

Binkytown

I love the name Tessa, as in, "You will have to take that up with my Nanny, Tessa, I can not be bothered..."

Frema

First of all, I'm totally bummed you didn't link to Tessa's MySpace page. Second, maybe it's due to the fact that I grew up with a mom who wore sweat shorts and let us play in the street, but the word "nanny" seems very pretentious to me. That and "playdate." Am I the only one?

Congratulations on all the happy news!

Jezer

I know nothing about Virginia, except that I went to Stafford once to visit some of my then-BF's relatives and froze my everloving butt off. But then again, I'm from TX and a big wimp when it comes to the slightest chill. But from what I'm reading, it'll be great. Congrats, yes?

Our yard kicks my ass. So I have the gardener (OK, it's really the Mr., but he's pretty cute) do it.

And now that I've seen Noah rocking the Robeez I have to break down and buy some for Al, because we're ALL about keeping up with the cool kids.

scoutsadie

I add my hearty welcome to those of my fellow Virginians! And something I wish I had learned four years ago when I moved here just far enough away from the Metro that I drove to work on the Hill until just recently -- the Virginia Railway Express (VRE) is pretty cool, the many recent rain/heat-inspired delays notwithstanding. There's a station three minutes from my house in Springfield, plenty of free (!) parking, and for me, a simple to the end o' the line at Union Station. If Jason's company opens another location along the VRE's route, or he changes jobs after y'all move (and assuming you end up near one of the VRE lines), I totally recommend that he try it!

Good luck with all of the moving prep and house shopping!

penelope

ooh, just found you - funny and cool, and if it's alright with you, i may just tag along for a while.
anyway, awesome 'bout the nanny. we found one that rocks as well (posted on it recently), and i well know the relief that finding 'the one' brings.
good luck with the move; never been to virginia but to drive through, but i've seen a few grateful dead shows in dc (no, not in the 60s).

penelope

no, seriously - you're very cool. where have you been all my blogging life (that's about 3 weeks now)? i just read your 'about' and like you even more. and i will always pronounce it right, because i was always karela to my zidy.

mom101

I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Luise

Thanks for the update. Everything you write about is fun and entertaining. Thanks for keeping up this site even though you are officially paid at the other. I love this site!

Cindy

You do not need a butler. You do not even need a stable boy. You need a cabana boy dressed in a good-fitting pair of somethings who will serve you cute girlie drinks with umbrellas in them by the pool. I'm just saying.

Annie

You're moving?! Is this because last time I was in DC, I kept whipping my head around and hissing "OH MY GOD IS THAT HER?!" to my husband when I was walking to the Metro? Because that was for joke. FOR JOKE!

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