On Cloth Diapers

I've had the opportunity to use both cloth and regular diapers. To be honest, the changing of a cloth diaper isn't all that different from a regular one. I mean, a gross diaper is a pain no matter what you catch it in. ;-) That said, my main complaint about the cloth variety are the clips used to secure them.  The family of 1 boy and a girl used t-shaped clips like this. (Though not as fancy and colorful)

What is not shown is the ace-bandage-esque clip used to claw the flaps of the diaper and hold it in place. These were my trouble. First of all, they were sharp (Duh! Kind of have to be to serve the purpose) and if they accidentally slipped out of your grasp, on account of say...a squirming baby, they most likely ended up snagging on your finger. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I don't like the thought of accidentally catching a sweet little cherub faced angel with one of those, cause it sure smarts! So I was always very careful to put my digits at risk, and of course, all my nerves and care caused me to have this accident even more than had I just relaxed and did it. (I'm a worrier, what can I say?)

So that's my beef with cloth diapers. I've never had to launder them, so I don't know about that aspect, but this painful one soured me a bit on the idea. I often imagine the impact it might have on the environment and the money I could save by using them, but then my sister-in-law reminds me of the cost of detergent as well as water and then I'm unsure if cloth really does trump Huggies or Pampers.

I've had a bit of practice with them now, but knowing myself as well as I do, I'm guessing I'll go the easy route.

On Giving Thanks - A Craft

My Current family, 3 boys and a girl or The Cs, have this wonderful tradition that occurs over dinner. They often go around the table and say what they are thankful for. Mind you, this is not done only during November or at Thanksgiving, but many a meal I have shared with The Cs has included this delightful conversation. The responses can be silly or serious, but everyone gets a turn and we smile and laugh and really enjoy each others company. With this thought in mind, R, D, and A helped me to complete this craft in order to decorate for Thanksgiving.

(I should have taken pictures of each step and made this post a tutorial, but it's a bit self explanitory.)

My prep work included collecting leaves and tracing the shapes onto colored construction paper. Then I cut those and the half moons out of white paper plates.

Next I asked each of the children what they were thankful for and wrote the items on their leaves. (This project might have been a bit above their skill level since I had to do most of the work, but they still had fun. They LOVED the gluing.)

Next I helped each of them attach the leaves with a glues stick. (Note: I had to go back and add a little Elmer's to really get them to stay.)

All in all a productive way to spend an hour.

On Crying

In my line of work you hear a lot of crying. And whining. And begging. Each child develops their own voice, even though they don't initially speak words. One of the first sonic emissions I become accustomed to when I meet a child is the "mommy don't leave me!" cry. I remember my first experience with this type of wail. I was 9 years old. (Back where it all began, but with a different set of cousins.) K, to me, was the first "baby" cousin on my Dad's side. There were plenty of older ones, but she became the object of my affection--someone to cuddle and take care of like a "Betsy Wetsy" doll, but heavier. Her cherub face and pink cheeks were like porcelain and I doted on her endlessly. Unfortunately, we didn't see each other THAT much, so when she was old enough to associate my face with "not my mother's face," I heard the wail. You could see her gear up for it. At first there was a brief moment of surprise, then realization. The eyes would wrinkle at the corners. Her chest would heave with the depth of breath. Her mouth would open and...

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...."

The cry erupted, lost in a roll of the tongue, worthy of the "rrrruffles have rrrridges" baby.



I remember vividly when she began to crawl. Hopelessly chasing her mother from room to room, with me close behind. It was adorable. She's a beautiful young woman these days, but I'll never forget her as a tired infant with her cherub face, sweet curls, and wicked linguistic skills.

The next blog-worthy cry comes from a little boy I only watched on occasion. Though our time together was short, his cry cannot be forgotten. When his mom left I would hear this:



Hence, he is forever known as Chewbacca. (A nickname put in place by his own mother, no less!)

Every child has their own way of expressing themselves. It's up to us to interpret them.

On Famous Spanish Cartoon Stars or Cases of Mistaken Identity

This was a few years ago, one of the jobs I held before my current position...

It was my first day of work at the house of 2 little girls. The younger, E, was a huge fan of that lovable chica Dora the Explorer with her short black bob and catchy "Lo hicimos" song. Her parents had been preparing her for my arrival all week. (I'm sure you can guess where this is going.)

"Are you ready for Nora to come play with you?" They asked as my arrival was imminent. She was estatic! Ready to show me every toy she owned, especially her Dora backpack. When I entered the front door she was seated on the couch in her dad's lap. We made eye contact and I smiled and said "Hi E!" She buried her head in her dad's chest. The only thing I could make out in her teary little voice was:

 "That's not Dora!"

On Priceless Gifts

I received the best gift in church recently. It was painful in a way, but ultimately exactly what I needed.

I love how my church does baptisms. After all the prayers and pouring on of water, the pastor takes the child in his arms and brings him up and down the aisles introducing everyone to the newest child of God.

He says: "Well, (insert child's name), this is your new family." He walks to the Sunday school class in the front row, "these are your brothers and sisters." As he meanders through the congregation he whispers, "these are your aunts and uncles." And finally he jokes, "this is your choir, they get upset if we don't introduce them too."

Yesterday, as the pastor was ushering around this 5 month old bundle that shares my brother's name, he stopped at the edge of my pew. The child was aware. Dressed in his finery, he was taking it all in. We made eye contact and held it. One beat, two, then three...as I looked into his big brown eyes and smiled, his serious face erupted in a huge grin that was just for me. My arms ached to hold him, but I know he is not mine to have. Even as my heart throbbed, it swelled at the small moment that was ours alone. Sometimes, in my line of work, a smile is the greatest reward.

On Asking Permission

Even nannies have to ask permission once in a while. Ok, actually ALL the time. I mean, we are practically living in someone else's home and making major decisions regarding the welfare of their children. Communication is obviously key to keeping not only the parents and children happy, but your nanny as well. Thankfully I have always had a very good rapport with the parents of my charges. I would even dare to call many of them my friends. That being said, it is not surprising that I mentioned the idea of starting this blog to the mother of the family I currently work for. She laughed. (I have made this statement before, "I really need to start a blog...") But this time I was serious. She seemed agreeable to the idea joking:

"You can start a blog, but only if I'm not really mean in it."

Not only did she say this once, but I kid you not, at LEAST 3 times. I think she's really worried I have lots of dirty laundry to share. ;-) I just might, but I really want this blog to be about me and the kids, as well as all the funny things they we do. I certainly might mention amusing parental faux pas, like the time a certain father took a certain 7 year old to Hooters for lunch, but I promise to put a positive spin on it. (We'll discuss THAT one in a future post.) Besides! I'm trying to be as respectful as I can with people's identities here, so even if you did let your kids play with the electric screw driver and all the dangerous "non-toys" in your tool box, no one but you really needs to know about that choice. ;-)

So, permission asked, and seemingly permission granted. As of this moment, I have no reason to portray the mother of "3 boys and a girl" in anything but a glowing light. I do reserve the right to change my opinion (every good writer must), but I doubt it's going to change any time soon.

On Careers

I have been baby-sitting since I was 9. First it was my cousin-neighbors' 1 year old and infant. I'd play with the toddler and fuss over the sleeping infant in the bassinet as their mother took care of other housework. I was in charge. (Even though she was nearby should catastrophe strike.) It was like my baby-dolls had come to life. Though my degrees in life would lead me to another profession entirely (music), I have considered myself a professional nanny for about 7 years. (With Clearances and CPR certification to boot!) It's been about that long that I've been having conversations such as the following:

Over breakfast with the (then) 6 year old son of the family I currently work for.

"Is this a meteorite, Norie?" He asked nochalantly turning (what looked to be a piece of driveway asphalt) over in his small hand.

"I don't know buddy." I said, both unsure about the nature of the rock and not wanting to put him off too quickly.

"I think it's a metoerite." He concluded firmly.

Encouraging him jokingly, I responded: "It might be! I really don't know. I'm a musician not a scientist."

Without missing a beat, his seriously excited little eyes found my face and inquired, "Hey! If you're a magician, can you pull a rabbit out of your hat?

I laughed loudly and replied: I'm a MUSician not a MAGician!

Introduction

My name is Nora. I have an addiction--kids. That said, I worry what sort of readers I'll attract. (Sad, but true.) Guess I'll take my chances. Now, back to my problem. I'm in love with the smiles, the chubby little cheeks, the hugs, and even the tantrums. Yes, in case you didn't guess, I'm a professional nanny, and I love my job. Every day my charges love me, frustrate me, make me laugh, and continually inspire me. This is our story.