It's Friday, which means: Yikes. Did I ever half-ass things around these blog parts this week.
In my defense, I have an excuse. But oh, my lands, it's the first-worldiest of first-world problems. Get ready to roll the fuck out of your eyeballs:
Our nanny quit.
It's a personal emergency crap-fest of a situation. No one is happy about it, there were many, many tears and hugs from both of us, and while I completely understand that shit happens and why she needs to leave us to go deal with said shit, GAH HOLY ASS FUCKBARS THIS SUCKS.
I know you hear the word "nanny" and probably have an immediate reaction of ooooohhhh laaaa deeee daaaaa, it must be so niiiiiiiice to be rolllllllling in money and household staff*, like it's all Downton Abbey up in this bitch.
*Random! One time, back in 2001, I was laid off from my job and went on a job interview that my former boss had kindly arranged. It was at this HUMUNGONORMOUS mansion and mostly involved a go-nowhere vanity project cooked up by the owner's (adult) child. I used the bathroom soon after I arrived and deposited a single tissue in the trash can. About 20 minutes later I had to pee again, but when I went back the offending, disgusting tissue had already been whisked away by the housekeeper.
Our nanny wasn't full-time, she didn't live with us (duh, where would we PUT her? in a coat closet?), and with multiple kids it's actually cheaper to hire a nanny than pay multiple daycare/summer camp tuitions — especially given the fluid, ebb-and-flow of my freelance work. She came in the mornings and stayed until naptime while I wrote and edited and dicked around on the internet like a privileged mofo.
She was also like a member of the family, someone I absolutely loved and adored and depended on and trusted completely. She's known Noah since he was four, Ezra since he was 15 months, and Ike...well. She came to the hospital to meet him mere hours after his birth. To say "the boys love her" is almost a shockingly offensive example of the limits of language.
(Shit. I'm going to cry again. QUICK SOMEBODY MAKE FART NOISES OR FALL OFF YOUR CHAIR.)
And all this schmoopiness about her wonderful irreplaceable self aside, there's also the unpleasant reality: I have a job that demands at least 30 solid hours a week of my undivided attention and positively zero hours of childcare with essentially no notice.
(No! Not "essentially" no notice! NO NOTICE. Stop with the extraneous abuse of adverbs, self!)
(You guys remember I have the other seekrit corporate job life, right? Just checking. Lest anyone think I spend 30 hours a week not updating this blog as often as I should.)
Luckily we live in an area where nannies are pretty much the standard option**, so I've been throwing myself (and mah babiez) on the mercy of our neighbors to pleeeeease let Ike and Ezra tag along for a couple hours, and several of the part-time nannies have volunteered their days off to come help while we try to figure the long-term shit out.
(I mean, "volunteered" to come and get paid, OBVIOUSLY, but allow me the illusion that it's happening mostly because all the neighborhood babysitters know my children from the playground and think they are wonderful rays of glorious, well-behaved light and fun.)
(ONE OF THEM SAID THAT, OKAY? Or something along the lines that "your kids seem easy!" Whatever. Just let me have this one. I've had a very emotional week.)
**I now understand even MORE why nannies are the norm after a couple HILARIOUS calls I made to local childcare centers and in-home daycares, inquiring about the possibility of enrolling Ike part-time for a couple weeks.
"When would you like to enroll?"
"Like, um, Monday?"
"Uh. We could possibly take him in June. Ish."
ANYWAY. That's what's happening. I don't recommend it. Opposite of fine holiday fun, and all that, especially since it's so damn near impossible to explain the situation without sounding like a bourgie asshole.
(I'm still not entirely sure what we're doing. It took me freaking months to hire our first nanny, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be rushed into that decision, even it means running around like an ADHD chicken for awhile. Ezra's preschool has a full-day option for him, and the toddler program MIGHT POSSIBLY MAYBE be willing to take Ike in the mornings when he's 20 months old. [February.] But then...I dunno, I still like having him HERE and AROUND and MID-MORNING SNUGGLE ACCESSIBLE.)