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My Kids' Nanny

 I do an odd dance with my family's pseudo-nanny; every Friday, she complains that one child has been swatting at the other child.


I make a concerned face, and a silence fills the room--and the silence includes "meaningful eye contact."

EYES OF THE NANNY: You should solve the aggression problem for me.

MY OWN EYES: Maybe there was swatting because one child was bored, because you weren't providing any kind of activity....

At the end of this strange, subtitled, mini Gloria Swanson film, the nanny and I smile broadly at each other, and we agree to "re-team" next week.

But I owe thanks to the nanny. I owe thanks because--over the summer--she presented me with an issue that I could not fully "punt on." She told me that the kitchen sink was clogged, and a flooding problem had ensued. I called a plumber, who did some investigative work and revealed that yet another visit would need to transpire, with camera equipment; the plumber needed to film certain subterranean developments, as in the early sequence from James Cameron's "Titanic." When these kinds of discussions occur, I feel as if I'm in Kabuki theater; I pretend to be interested, and competent, and I just write checks. The filming session did later happen--for a ridiculous sum of money--and the end result was a speech about broken PVC piping, and a description of an urgent need for further repair.

I still haven't solved the pipe issue--but now there are big plans for the basement, and maybe these plans will just sweep the pipe issue under a new rug. I did find the pipe issue so overwhelming that I had a small meltdown, and the meltdown helped to tell me that I needed to be on Lexapro. So I thank my children's nanny for that.

I'm told that I ruminate too much. Less thinking! Less analysis, please! Maybe I'll handle that--some other time.
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