The nanny Diaries

CHAPTER SIX

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Caitlin? Hi, I'm Nanny," I say. Mrs. X told me that my colleague is blond and Australian, which makes her fairly easy to pick out amid the sea of faces that have had work done and faces that are doing the work. I recognized her from the Xes' photo session in the park.
   She looks up from where she sits on the school steps, sensibly uutfitted in an lzod shirted and jeans, a sweatshirt tied around her waist. She's holding Gtayer's apple juice in her right hand with the straw already in it. I'm impressed.

   Just as stands to return my greeting, our charge and his classmates are released by his teacher and the courtyard becomes instantly animated. Grayer comes streaking through the crowd toward Caitlin, but he screeches to a halt when he sees me, his enthusiasm visibly draining out through his Keds.
   "Grayer, Nanny'll be coming to the park with us this afternoon -----won't that be fun? I sense from her tone she isn't quite convinced we're in for a laugh riot. "He's always a bit cranky when school let's out, but he gets over it fine once he's had his snack.

   I'm sure.
   It is chaos around us as children are snacked and play dates are made. I'm impressed by the finesse with which she works Grayer from snack to stroller to good-byes. He maintains screaming conversation with three of his classmates while getting a sweater put on, a Baggie opened, homework unpinned from his lapel, and a stroller strapped under him. She's like puppeteer, keeping the play in motion. I debate taking notes. "Right hand on stroller handle, left hand pulls down sweater, two steps left and squat."
   We head towards the park as they chatter away. Propels him forward with, though he can't be a light load with his sand toys, school stuff, and backup supplies of snack.

   "Grayer, who's your best friend at school?" I asked.
   "Shut up, stupidhead," he says, kicking out my shins. I walk the reminder of the way well outside his field of stroller vision.
   After lunch Caitlin takes me around to meet the other nannies in the playground, most of whom are Irish, Jamaican, or Filipino.
They each gave me a quick, cold appraisal and I get the sense I won't be making a lot of friends here.

   "So what do you do during the week?" she asks suspiciously.
   "I'm a senior at NYU," I say.
   "I couldn't figure out how she found someone who only wanted to work weekends." What? Weekends what?
   She reties her ponytail while she continues. "I'd do it, but I wait tables on the weekends and, really, one needs a bit of a break by Friday. I thought they had a girl who worked weekends on the country, but I guess she didn't work out. Are you planning on driving out with them to Connecticut on Friday nights or taking the train?" She looks pointedly at me as I stare back at her in confusion.

   Then it is suddenly clear both of us why are aren't meant to discuss the "transition." I'm not the pinch hitter, I'm the replacement. A sadness flickers over her features.
   I reach to change the subject. "So, what's with the card?"
   "Oh, that grotty old thing." She swallows. "He carries it everywhere. He'll be wanting it pinned to his trousers and in his pajamas.
It drives the Mrs. crazy, but he refuses to so much as put on his underpants without it." She blinks a few times and then turns away.

   We make it full circle back to the sandbox where another family, who I assume from their matching shell suits and overwhelming zest for life are tourists, is playing.
   "He's so cute. Is he your only child?" the mother asks in a flat Midwestern accent. I'm twenty-one. He's four.
   "No, I'm his-----"

   "I told you to get out of here, you mad woman!" Grayer hurls his stroller at me, screaming at the top of his lungs.
   Blood rushes to my face as I retort with false confidence,"You . . . silly!" The tourist clan focus intently on a group sand-castle project.
   I consider taking a playground poll to whether I should "get out" and, if I choose not to, does this, in fact, make me a "bad woman"?
   Caitlin rights the stroller as if his throwing it were part of a fabulous game we're playing. "Well, looks to me like somebody has a not of energy and wants me to catch him!" She chases him all over the playground, laughing deeply. He slides down the slide and she catches him. He hides behind the monkey bars and she catches him. There is a lot of catching overall. I start to chase her as she chases him, but give up when he looks pleadingly into my eyes, moaning "STOaaaooop." I walk to a bench. As I watch them play I have to hand it to her. She has perfected the magic act that is child care, creating the illusion of an effortless relationship; she could be his mother.

  Eventually, Caitlin drags him over to me with a Frisbee in hand.
"Well now, Grayer, why don't we teach Nanny the Frisbee game?"

We stand in triangular formation as she tosses the Frisbee to me. I catch it and toss it to Grayer, who gracefully receives it by sticking out his tongue and turning his back to both of us. I pick up the Frisbee from where it has landed by his feet and toss it back to her. She throws it to him and he catches it and throws it back to her. It seems to take hours, this halting circuit that comes to a full stop whenever contact is required between him and me. He simply denies that I exist and sticks out his tongue at any effort to prove otherwise. We play on and on because she wants to make it right and thinks maybe she can wear him down to the point where he will at least toss to me a Frisbee. I think we have all set our sights just a little too high.

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