Nothing to See Here…

In the movie Mary Poppins, Jane and Michael Banks start their nanny want-ad like this: 

If you want this choice position, have a cheery disposition.

Rosy cheeks - no warts.  Play games - all sorts.

You must be kind, you must be witty. Very sweet and very pretty.

I think I might just go ahead and use their letter to post my ad for a summertime nanny.  Last year, my college daughter filled my open nanny position.  Together, we duped Uncle Sam and she got some tax-free income and I got to boss her around for another few months of her life.  It was all good.

This summer, however, my daughter is going to stay in her college town and so I’m at a loss.  We’re exploring other a few options, but one very real possibility is to hire a nanny - a REAL nanny.

A nanny!  Just over ten years ago, I made 20K a year and now I’m having conversations with my husband about hiring a fucking NANNY.  Some days I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. 

As I looked at the letter Jane and Michael wrote, I said to myself “I want that job!”  Seriously, I’m qualified.  I have experience!  And a cheery disposition (shut-up!)  And I think people with warts are a protected class based on the Equal Opportunity Employment Act of 1978 (or something) so I don’t think they could keep me from taking this job based on warts.  Not legally, anyway.

I would love to be able to take the summer off work and hang out with my kids.  I have visions of complex and messy craft projects, of trips to the Science Center and the zoo and a mission to find the absolute BEST playground in all of the parks in the whole St. Louis metropolitan area!  I would get up early and make healthy breakfasts!  I would teach the girls to macrame (assuming I was somehow able to teach myself first).  I would do laundry on Mondays and scrub toilets on Tuesdays and mop floors on Wednesdays. 

I would greet my husband at the front door with a fresh martini and a kiss, wearing my pearls and some sensible and yet attractive leather pumps to go with my linen shirtwaist dress.

At the end of each day, the girls would clamor go to bed because they were exhausted from all the day’s activities.  This would be appealing to me because it would give me a chance to clean my closets, rearrange my pantry, and plan the meals for the following day.  And, each day would end with a smile when I gave my husband the wifely equivalent of the Happy Finish.

Ah…. how perfect it would be.

I was all set to turn in my resignation and GO FOR IT when that ornery little devil on my left shoulder used his sharp pointy tail to pop my dream-balloon and send the whole vision scattering far and wide.

“Hey! Bozo!” he said.  “Who do you think you are, June-fucking-Cleaver?  Here - let me tell you how it would be.  You would wake up only when those brats were crawling all over you begging you to get out of bed.  You would toss each of them a package of raw Pop-tarts and put on Dora while you checked your email.  Yeah, that would end up being 2 hours of your morning.  After that, you would get dressed with only a 30 percent probability of showering first.  Then you’d go outside and push them on the swings for 10 minutes before you justified returning inside to (airquotes) check your email (close airquotes) again.  Your housework, cooking, and wifely duties would suck just as much in the stay-at-home scenario as they do when you work 40 hours a week.  Your husband doesn’t drink martinis, you have no pearls, and you don’t have a CLUE what a shirtwaist dress is.  Get over yourself.  Hire a nanny and go to work.”

Fucking asshole, I never liked him anyway.  Well, except maybe that time he encouraged me to take off in that Mustang convertible with the lead singer of the band after the big hall party when I was 16.  Yeah, it was cool to be The One Chosen by the Super Cute Fox for once, so I guess I should thank the little fucker for that.  But popping my dream bubble about being the perfect stay-at-home mom?  How DARE he!

It doesn’t matter.  It was only a dream.  I don’t have a choice.  I make more than my husband by a factor of 2 and I carry all the health insurance for the family (which is critical to have when you have a diabetic and an asthmatic under one roof).  He works for a small company and has no 401K or pension or any other good bennies, so for now, and especially with a kid in college, my income is necessary.

The dream was rather nice while it lasted.

What are the chances I can find someone like Mary Poppins to watch my kids for the summer?  You know, someone with a magic umbrella who can make sure my house stays in proper order and can make my children mind their manners?  And what sort of salary do you suppose Mary Poppins commands?

I put an ad on Craigslist.org today.  What do you suppose Mary Poppins (or perhaps Jane and Michael’s father) would think of trolling the Internet for nannies?  I’m a little nervous.  Should I go through an agency and pay their fees in vital organs?  Or should I hire one on my own and take the chance that I don’t get Jack the Ripper?  What does a nanny cost in the St. Louis area?  Can will she scrub toilets on Wednesday?  And how can I be sure she won’t greet my husband at the door with a fresh martini and a kiss? 

Mary Poppins?  If you’re out there and you read my blog, feel free to float down on my doorstep, OK?  You couldn’t possibly find a family any more in need of your calm, cool, sensible organization and discipline skills than this one!

Ah, well, all in good time, I suspect Nanny Poppins would say.  Summer break doesn’t start until June. 

And now I shall leave you with my favorite line from the Mary Poppins movie:  Close your mouth please, Michael, we are not a codfish.