Desperate in DC

The Nanny is Always Greener

Dear C,

Just finished reading the DC book sensation du Jour - White House Nannies - which I will pass on to you as the perfect summer read.  In case the last few days in Camp Mom have prevented you from hearing the latest buzz around town, it is FILLED with juicy details about how the rich and powerful are simply incapable and unwilling to take care of their own children, as well as how they underpay and mistreat the people they employ to do it for them.

Improving, this book is not, but there is always something so comforting about having one's suspicions confirmed, wouldn't you agree?  As I read on, however, I couldn't help being struck by a certain unsettling feeling of sympathy for some of the employers involved.  Of course, it is always fun to sit in judgment on the women involved, esp. the ones who don't work but hire nannies anyway.  But as someone who has been in this position herself, all I can say is that it is simply exhausting maintaining a grueling tennis/lunch/spa schedule while managing one's nanny and other household help at the same time.  And as you know, there are ALWAYS issues, from the cleaner who expects to be paid when she doesn't show up (frequently), to the babysitter who had the temerity to borrow my clothes - and look better in them than I did.

My question for you is therefore as follows: at what point do we cross the line that condemns us to spend eternity in Hell, and do you think there is any hope for us, yet?

Faithfully,

P.

Re: The Nanny is Always Greener

Dearest P,

I fear I haven't managed to read the entire book--devoted as I am to hearth, home and manicures at the moment.  I did have the occasion, however, just today, to overhear a mother lunching with her preschool age son who was trying to explain to him how she would become his primary caregiver.  Nearly brought tears to my eyes as I witnessed this virgin take her first innocent steps toward her descent into full-time mommy madness.

You see, dear P, not so many years ago, I remember calling the other P and leaving her a message indicating I was joining the ranks of the stay-at-home moms--keeper of all things sacred and holy.  Unfortunately I think she thought I knew what I was doing.  In the midwest, you see, it is much less acceptable to be home and have a nanny too.  So there I was, faced with my cherubs all day, every day, wondering how they were to be groomed and fed.  Once I picked up the pieces of my shattered existence and realized that I must have something to do with their daily routines, and started drinking regularly by 3pm, things improved.  Especially when I returned to the office.  I must confess, however, that I secretly believed the only difference between working and staying home was that my children would appreciate me more, not in fact, as is the case, much less.

As I watched the woman today, I realized how naive and tangled is the web we mothers weave for ourselves.  Her little boy, god bless him, kept chanting, "I want Rosie, I want Rosie,"--clearly the nanny soon to abandon him.  I wanted to shake the mother and tell her my story.  It is clear I should have encouraged her to raid the 401-k if necessary but if she insisted on leaving the office she should definitely keep dear Rosie.  I did none of these things, however, as I found her constant attempts at banter with her young son grated on my nerves and knew she never would have believed she didn't have all the answers.  I only hope her deflowering experience is less painful than mine.  Actually, that's not true at all: I relish the idea that women of an especially annoying East Coast breed get a reality check on a subject they know almost nothing about: their own children.

Faithfully,

C.

Raise your cocktails, girls, the nanny has arrived

P,

As if we didn't have enough to worry about, I've discovered a new breed of D.C. nanny: they manage your home and run their own successful business too.  While we have been busy encouraging the in-fighting between stay at homes, full-time work outside the home and part-time in and out of the home moms, the women who work for us are kicking our butts.  Yesterday, my own part-time nanny was able to administer a therapeutic massage to my throbbing temple that turned my day around.  She is an incredibly capable woman, after all, who ran her own steel galvanizing business in her home country.  This experience reminded me why American women end up so conflicted.  It's not whether we can do all the jobs but whether we want to that is most essential for us.  On the other hand, these women are not about choice but necessity--and in the end they do what they must and then some.  Of course, I in no way want to suggest fewer choices would make our lives better lest our husbands feel any less of an obligation to support the lifestyle we wish we had.  No, more to the point, I am seeking the answer to the question almost no one has asked: have we checked the nannies for microchips?  It's getting a little Stepford around here.

Faithfully,

C.

Re: Raise your cocktails, girls, the nanny has arrived

Dear C,

I can't help feeling there is some perfectly logical explanation for the sudden appearance, and flourishing of the lesser spotted Stepford Nanny, who is so clearly more intelligent, talented and more competent than ourselves. Could it be that these women have more time to focus on their accomplishments, being generally unburdened by the demands of yoga, therapy (retail and otherwise) and  Auction Nazis, let alone the heavy toll exacted by offspring and spouse? Lord knows, we would probably have the cure for cancer by now - or at least, for cellulite - if it weren't for the sheer maintenance involved in keeping body and soul together. As a matter of fact, these days, I spend more time (and money) on myself than the family minivan, getting waxed, spray-painted and generally re-treaded for the road. But lest we get despondent, dear C., at the idea that we now lack the skills required to wipe the precious behinds of the average Northwest DC child, remember that with the arrival of the  Stepford Nanny, can the blockbuster expose of 'The Myth of the Supernanny: How you Can't Do or Have it All' be far behind? Welcome to the club, sisters.

Faithfully,

P.