Amelia/Amanda

I'm a nanny now. Actually I prefer the term "governess" because it sounds less like something I used to do when I was 13 to make money to buy scrunchies from Claire's. But it's essentially the same thing.

I've had some ups and downs in these last couple of weeks, but my lowest point so far (God help me) was last Wednesday. Everything I did was wrong, and I found myself wanting to flush my M.A. down the toilet because I don't deserve it. I'm an idiot. The whole day I felt like that children's book character Amelia Bedelia who, like me, is kind of an idiot. She misunderstands all of her instructions by her employer which creates ridiculous and often comical situations. The difference is that Amelia almost always wins everyone over at the end of the book by baking a delicious treat, and Amanda, well she doesn't.

So here's my story:

I take all three boys to school, and drop K off first at 8:00. Then, JJ and baby J and I walk to Lenny's for a bagel and to hang out with the other Rodeph Sholom kids before JJ's school starts a 8:45. As I am squeezing through a narrow line of people with a full tray of food and coffee in one hand and a very heavy 22 month baby in the other, baby J starts barfing. Barf. Everywhere. Let me be clear that I am not referring to baby spit up here. This is barf. Cereal barf. The Lenny's employees have to use a mop. So I immediately throw the tray and my purse down and run baby J to the bathroom to hose us both off. As I am suppressing my gag reflex, baby J starts laughing. Rude baby J. I wipe off the chunks the best that I can and go back to retrieve our food, my bags, and oh yeah, the other kid. One of the moms looks at baby J, she looks at me, and she says, "You gotta take him home. We'll take JJ to school." I don't argue and I call their mom on the way back home. She asks me if there are extra clothes in the diaper bag. Negative. Then I realize that I have JJ's backpack with me with his lunch inside. I have to take baby J home, clean us both off, and take JJ's bag back to school in time for lunch. Strike One.

Baby J and I get home and are greeted at the door by 5-7 Western European workers that need to get in but can't. I reach for my key, and it's not there. It's not in my purse. Not in the stroller. Not in my pocket. I call the mom back, and she talks me through how to get in. When I take JJ's backpack to him, I retrace my footsteps and ask at Lenny's but no key anywhere. Strike Two.

At 3:00, baby J and I head back to school to pick up K. Their mom thinks that K has a play date with a boy named Daniel but didn't get confirmation from Daniel's mom. I meet Daniel's nanny in the lobby, but she says that he has piano lessons, but maybe Friday? K is super bummed and is taking it out on me. I text his mom and ask her if I can take him to Lenny's (third time that day) for a cookie. We go in and sit down, and I thank God for a shift change so there are new workers. Kids are eating cookies and are generally happy. Just as I am beginning to think that things might be turning around, K's mom texts me and says, "Which Daniel? His play date was with Daniel with light hair, not the Daniel with dark hair." Ok, how was I supposed to know there were TWO Daniels!? I definitely talked to the wrong Daniel. Strike Three.

Some other things went wrong that day too.. like baby J accidentally stealing something from the toy store because I didn't notice he was holding it when we hurried out so K could use the bathroom. I forgot to put a pull-up on JJ, and I put the wrong kind of diaper on baby J, too. There are only three strikes in baseball so I'm choosing not to elaborate on all of my mistakes. Three is enough. It was a rough day.

I gotta learn how to bake.