Yes, yes. Rather scandalous title for a nanny I know. But then, one never can know what will happen when one steps forth boldly from one's homeland and journeys to a far country of strange customs only outdone by the strangeness of the natives themselves. Such a doubtful enterprise is not to be undertaken warily but with confidence in ignorance and spunk in quiverings. Yes, well, I do believe I digress.
What I am endevoring to say is that this nanny has developed extremely poor cheek circulation (due undoubtedly to the severe southern climate) and must be treated several times a day with a strong supplement of kissing. Thus my young charges have stepped forward heroically offering up their sweet lips in service to the cause of my poorly cheeks. All (well, most anyway) of the above is of course, ridiculous nonsense. I must be honest. I do not have poor cheek circulation, and if I did I must have been cured weeks ago for all the kissing I'm getting. Its really rather interesting--the sillies think they should try to get in ten kisses on whichever of my cheeks is most convenient at the time before I have succeeded in kissing their rosy roundnesses an equal amount of times. All utter sillyness really. As it should be.
By the way: has anyone ever heard the expression, "Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy?" Thomas says it. Oh yes, and Thomas feels it necessary to add an "ee" sound at the end of most of his most important of words. Thus it is "Miss Rebekie, did you fix my beddy?" And, "Calvie! You stepped on my toesies!" Etc, etc. :)
I'll tell you all about South Carolina soon--patience!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Rain in Georgia
Today it rained. I don't think I was ever so happy to see rain in my life. Or smell it. Or feel it. After church this evening I stepped out onto the front porch to assess the conditions and was met by heavily wetted, scented air and no less than half a dozen friends enjoying it. After days and days of sunshine, the overcast neutrality of the light displayed each color and texture like vivid displays in an art gallery or botanical garden. The house here is guarded by the gentle green of an early spring wood, and everywhere there are blossoms and new life.
The rain always seems to lift my spirits, and I at once began to feel very much like myself. Together, the children and I and a few extras skipped barefoot over wet concrete, letting the precipitation soak into our pores. At length Tommy said, "Do you want to see the puddle?" Instantly alert, I replied:
"PUDDLE?! Where?"
"Its over there--you want to see?" said the snuggle bug and pointed in the general direction of the garage.
"Of course!" And off we went, circling the house till we stood, panting at the edge of a very authentic puddle indeed. At which point I jumped in, thus instigating the activity for the next half-hour.
Later a bare-foot walk was proposed. This suggestion carried plenty of enthusiasm, but was eventually vetoed--being rather less than sensible. I made the responsible decision--something I am often compelled to do because of my position as nanny, teacher, playmate and all-around awesome boss lady. Shucks.
The rain always seems to lift my spirits, and I at once began to feel very much like myself. Together, the children and I and a few extras skipped barefoot over wet concrete, letting the precipitation soak into our pores. At length Tommy said, "Do you want to see the puddle?" Instantly alert, I replied:
"PUDDLE?! Where?"
"Its over there--you want to see?" said the snuggle bug and pointed in the general direction of the garage.
"Of course!" And off we went, circling the house till we stood, panting at the edge of a very authentic puddle indeed. At which point I jumped in, thus instigating the activity for the next half-hour.
Later a bare-foot walk was proposed. This suggestion carried plenty of enthusiasm, but was eventually vetoed--being rather less than sensible. I made the responsible decision--something I am often compelled to do because of my position as nanny, teacher, playmate and all-around awesome boss lady. Shucks.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Our Pact and other such splendid nonsense
The patio, lunch time, seventy-six point nine degrees. We were sitting in a friendly circle around the black metal patio furniture under the shade of a striped umbrella, chewing on leftover lasagna, chicken soup and garlic bread. Calvin finished his first and bolted for the back door and various unknown solitary indoor pursuits (note: the kids are required to stick around after meals to help clean up). Being warm, fed, and contented, I naturally began to get a little goofy. A completely understandable circumstance especially considering the presence of three extremely goofy children. I proposed to the board that we aid each other in the pursuit of Southern-ness. Subsequently we proceeded in laying the brilliant plans put forth below:
"We should always say 'ya'll'." I said decidedly and deftly avoided a friendly lunge from fellow warrior Thomas on my right.
"Yeah, we should say 'ya'll!" Genna agreed from across the table, immediately perceiving the genius of my suggestion. A volley of agreeable sounds fired themselves like the sporadic thud-thud of a machine gun. Or toppled themselves nicely like dominoes, each reacting to the former.
"We should make a pact--a solemn pact to always, always say 'ya'll'." I reiterated.
"What's a pact?" said the punks around the table.
"Its like an oath," I replied good-naturedly. "We all put our hands in and swear to always say 'ya'll' or suffer the punishments."
"Punishments?!" said my punks.
"Punishments?!" said Alex from Tommy's right, visibly perturbed.
"Certainly punishments. Let's see...what kind of punishments should we have...we could crab walk down the drive-way and sing something while we do it. "
The punks didn't know what a crab walk was and I, shocked at such ignorance, patiently demonstrated.
"Oh," said Genna, getting into the spirit of the thing. "We could put stickers on our cheeks and do jumping jacks out at the road while cars go past!" What a smart kid.
Alex still protested, finding the plan extremely unsavory, not to mention unsettling, but he was roped in eventually.
Calvin was soon informed of our plan and initiated into the society of Southern wanna-be's. Amazingly enough he didn't find the idea too silly or embarrassing. A three strikes system was established and soon we began recording our down-falls. Each time a member used the words, "Hey guys..." or "Lets catch a caterpillar guys," or "Where have you guys been," the transgression was faithfully marked on our handy-dandy index card. Three offenses and justice was done. Thankfully for the poor offenders, three choices were established for their comfort. I crab-walked the entire driveway this afternoon with the snuggle bug (Tommy). Next time I'm choosing to wear a sign that says, "I promise to say 'ya'll'" all day. Much less painful believe me.
Tonight I put the punks to bed alone, the parents being absent for the evening. In lieu of their regular family worship conducted by Rob, we prayed, whereupon I threatened to sing lullabies. They agreed enthusiastically. I sang four songs to a kind, appreciative audience and then left them to snuggle in the half light calling softly on the way out, "Goodnight--love ya'll," to a chorus of reciprocations of the sentiment.
I love those punks.
"We should always say 'ya'll'." I said decidedly and deftly avoided a friendly lunge from fellow warrior Thomas on my right.
"Yeah, we should say 'ya'll!" Genna agreed from across the table, immediately perceiving the genius of my suggestion. A volley of agreeable sounds fired themselves like the sporadic thud-thud of a machine gun. Or toppled themselves nicely like dominoes, each reacting to the former.
"We should make a pact--a solemn pact to always, always say 'ya'll'." I reiterated.
"What's a pact?" said the punks around the table.
"Its like an oath," I replied good-naturedly. "We all put our hands in and swear to always say 'ya'll' or suffer the punishments."
"Punishments?!" said my punks.
"Punishments?!" said Alex from Tommy's right, visibly perturbed.
"Certainly punishments. Let's see...what kind of punishments should we have...we could crab walk down the drive-way and sing something while we do it. "
The punks didn't know what a crab walk was and I, shocked at such ignorance, patiently demonstrated.
"Oh," said Genna, getting into the spirit of the thing. "We could put stickers on our cheeks and do jumping jacks out at the road while cars go past!" What a smart kid.
Alex still protested, finding the plan extremely unsavory, not to mention unsettling, but he was roped in eventually.
Calvin was soon informed of our plan and initiated into the society of Southern wanna-be's. Amazingly enough he didn't find the idea too silly or embarrassing. A three strikes system was established and soon we began recording our down-falls. Each time a member used the words, "Hey guys..." or "Lets catch a caterpillar guys," or "Where have you guys been," the transgression was faithfully marked on our handy-dandy index card. Three offenses and justice was done. Thankfully for the poor offenders, three choices were established for their comfort. I crab-walked the entire driveway this afternoon with the snuggle bug (Tommy). Next time I'm choosing to wear a sign that says, "I promise to say 'ya'll'" all day. Much less painful believe me.
Tonight I put the punks to bed alone, the parents being absent for the evening. In lieu of their regular family worship conducted by Rob, we prayed, whereupon I threatened to sing lullabies. They agreed enthusiastically. I sang four songs to a kind, appreciative audience and then left them to snuggle in the half light calling softly on the way out, "Goodnight--love ya'll," to a chorus of reciprocations of the sentiment.
I love those punks.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The first five days
Despite the nature of this posting's title, I shall not tell in detail each day's happenings but rather attempt to summarize.
Since I arrived on Tuesday night I have backed into a tree, spent a quarter of a tank of gasoline, missed at least six turns, swam in a Georgia lake, been introduced to treadmills with television, been bitten by fire ants, been hugged over fifty times by four incredible kids, played hacky sack, attended a Psalm-singing church, become a homeschooler in the administrative sense, slept in a four-poster every night, met two animals of the equine, four of the canine, and one of the feline varieties. I have felt like crying three times. I have laughed many times. I have made buscuits with baking soda instead of baking powder (don't try this at home). I have soaked up more sun than should be legal in April.
Calvin is eleven. He is strong willed and the leader of the pack. Although shorter than his younger sister and skinnier than his younger brother, he is extremely bright and active. At times he can be difficult--having a propensity to yell when angry, but his apologies are sincere and heart-felt.
Genna's full name is Margaret Geneva. She is a quiet, feminine, motherly nine-year-old. Life with three brothers is somewhat of a trial for her gentle nature. Genna is a talented violinist, but struggles with confidence in her abilities.
Alex is seven. He keeps up with Calvin very nicely. Quieter than his older brother, he has gifted me with a total of four wild flowers. Alex gives great hugs. He has a habit of interrupting in order to be heard above the general hubbub of life here.
Thomas is called the "snuggle-bug." His full name is Thomas Chalmers, and he has the most agreeable nature I have ever seen on a five-year-old. Tough as some kids three times his age, Tommy comes up from nearly every brotherly pummeling laughing and jumping in for more. He has a piece of hair at the top middle of his head that sticks up simply because he has a habit of pulling it.
All of the children assure me that I am the bestest nanny they have ever had and that they are very glad to have me. I think they're being kind considering my habit of scaring them to death every time we get in the car...
Needless to say, I love these kids.
Since I arrived on Tuesday night I have backed into a tree, spent a quarter of a tank of gasoline, missed at least six turns, swam in a Georgia lake, been introduced to treadmills with television, been bitten by fire ants, been hugged over fifty times by four incredible kids, played hacky sack, attended a Psalm-singing church, become a homeschooler in the administrative sense, slept in a four-poster every night, met two animals of the equine, four of the canine, and one of the feline varieties. I have felt like crying three times. I have laughed many times. I have made buscuits with baking soda instead of baking powder (don't try this at home). I have soaked up more sun than should be legal in April.
Calvin is eleven. He is strong willed and the leader of the pack. Although shorter than his younger sister and skinnier than his younger brother, he is extremely bright and active. At times he can be difficult--having a propensity to yell when angry, but his apologies are sincere and heart-felt.
Genna's full name is Margaret Geneva. She is a quiet, feminine, motherly nine-year-old. Life with three brothers is somewhat of a trial for her gentle nature. Genna is a talented violinist, but struggles with confidence in her abilities.
Alex is seven. He keeps up with Calvin very nicely. Quieter than his older brother, he has gifted me with a total of four wild flowers. Alex gives great hugs. He has a habit of interrupting in order to be heard above the general hubbub of life here.
Thomas is called the "snuggle-bug." His full name is Thomas Chalmers, and he has the most agreeable nature I have ever seen on a five-year-old. Tough as some kids three times his age, Tommy comes up from nearly every brotherly pummeling laughing and jumping in for more. He has a piece of hair at the top middle of his head that sticks up simply because he has a habit of pulling it.
All of the children assure me that I am the bestest nanny they have ever had and that they are very glad to have me. I think they're being kind considering my habit of scaring them to death every time we get in the car...
Needless to say, I love these kids.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Last minute hysteria
So I'm leaving next Tuesday. Next Tuesday I will rise early, fold my underwear neatly in my suitcase, eat a breakfast high in complex carbs, and leave. I will roll my luggage carefully (so as not to overset the top-heavy things) over my door-jam, load them into my mother's cinnamon-red van, and then I will be gone. My mother will drive me to the nearest airport in the negligent dark of six o'clock, and I will board a shuttle bus with large blue and yellow print on the side that says: Bell-Aire Shuttle. I have always liked blue and yellow together and so I will smile. I might forget to bring cash to tip the driver. I will feel somewhat guilty. And then I will be somewhere else. Seattle to be exact. And in Seattle I will wait on a modern looking black leather seat and wait for the moment when the friendly female voice says: "Now boarding sections A through C, sections A through C please." And I will sit straight for a moment and feel for my carry on, but I am in section D and have to wait. And sometime after all of this drama I will arrive in a large Georgia city and meet my new family. And I will live happily ever after till July when I come home for a few weeks. Amen.
I'm nervous.
I'm nervous.
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