My Kids' Nanny

 My kids have a sitter who is more than a sitter--part-sitter, part-nanny. A nanster. Google says that you shouldn't ask a teen sitter to handle more than four or five hours of waking time with small children; my kids' nanster is not a teen, so I can go over "the five-hour limit."

Her name is Rutendo, and she traveled here from Zimbabwe; she is studying to join one ministry or another. (I should know the name of the ministry.) Her program works with students who hop on airplanes and dramatically change many aspects of their lives. Rutendo is tough; when she visited Montreal at Christmas, she said, dryly, "I may or may not be back. It depends on how Trump's America chooses to treat me at the customs booth. I'll text you with an update." Her tone was what you might use if you were describing a mildly annoying trip to the dentist.

My husband is much more of a conversationalist than I am--and so I learn tidbits through him. Rutendo's current placement involves a congregation of elderly New Jersey residents with too much time on their hands. These residents become enraged if Rutendo is two or three minutes late for "an audience"--but I suspect that the residents have met their match. I think this because, when my son began "eloping" from the house, Rutendo did *not* have a panic attack. She bluntly texted this: "You need locks on each of your gates." And the problem was solved.

What I particularly love about this person is that she is fully committed, punctual, unflappable, and elegant. In childcare, it's very easy to subtweet: "I'm letting you know, via certain slightly barbed questions, that I find this work insufferable. But I'm not using direct language, so I have plausible deniability." Rutendo never, never does this--and so she reminds me that there is a beautiful, large-minded way to do any job. Literally any job. 

I will miss her when she moves on.