A friend of mine taunted me via email about having a nanny the other day, “If I knew how to spell bourgeois…” Of course he spelled it perfectly. He had studied creative writing at MIT after all.
And yes, I feel somewhat yuppy, sitting here and writing while someone else cares for my children nearby. But when it comes down to it, I’m going to weigh finances and what’s best for my kids and do what makes the most sense. Two kids in daycare add up to the cost of a nanny, and a nanny gives me the flexibility when I’m on assignment at night (tonight I’ll be at an open mic session researching a story on spoken word in Santa Cruz) or when I have yoga classes (okay, call me a yuppy again).
It wasn’t easy finding a nanny. The nanny agencies told me no one would want to drive up our house in the redwoods when there was more than enough work down below. So I put my own ad up on Craigslist and found a 19 year old who lives relatively nearby and has spent the last year taking care of kids all over the peninsula. She’s young, sweet, not academically inclined, has excellent references, and the kids love her. But I have a baby monitor going on in the house, and while I’m in my office working I can hear how she interacts with the kids.
Yes, I know it sounds like I spy on my nanny. I guess I do. But she’s in charge of the most important beings in the world (at least to me). The stakes are high. I’m not taking any chances. And she knows that the monitor is on – she uses it to talk to me whenever she needs something.
She’s been working for us for over a month, and yesterday she took Esme out to the Palo Alto Junior Museum and Zoo. I was a little nervous, not having a baby monitor that gets that kind of long distance reception, but I let her go. She came back with pictures of Esme playing, stories about what she did, and stories about the negligence of other caregivers.
When I was at yoga class the other night, as the teacher concluded with savasana, and told us to think of something or someone we were thankful for, Alena, the nanny, popped into my head. At least I’m a grateful yuppy.
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