Who Is That?


He said, “that’s what I thought, the first time I saw you, who is that?


That’s nice to hear.

I do not know how the topic of high heels was the conversation I fell into outside of the Sunset Youth Services this evening, but there it was, and the first time my friend had met me I was in platform heels.

I miss wearing heels.

I don’t have much reason to wear them.

Hard to ride a one speed in platforms.

Not that I couldn’t.

I could.

I just like the feel of my feet being connected to the bicycle and that means wearing my foot retention straps (think a cage except a heavy velcro strap of fabric instead of the standard cage set up on a bicycle), my lovely Hold Fast Straps (designed by messengers in Brooklyn, they work really well and I have had them on my bike since I got her and that was over three years ago, still looking sharp and doing the trick) in purple.

I could wear some heels and bike around if I don’t put my feet in the straps, but I don’t want to be going anywhere in heels on a bicycle.

I have to dig my way out of a hill to get to go anywhere worthy of wearing heels and that means working hard and generally, breaking a slight sweat.

I often wind up at work being quite warm and if not outright sweating, damn close.

I carry the hoodie for when I cool off and for the rest of the work day, as well as to ride home in.

I got to have my hoodie.

And heels, well, I suppose, in San Francisco, you could be excused a nice hoodie with your heels, and I have seen some ladies rock that look alright.


Miss the heels.

My ex liked me in heels, albeit he preferred the stiletto heel and I prefer the wedge.

Stiletto’s always make me feel a little wobbly and they generally do not have enough of a toe box to accommodate the width of my foot.

If I wear heels, they have to be comfortable.

Not that I’m wearing them around, I think I am just ready for a date.

An excuse to put some heels on.

I certainly won’t be wearing them to work.

I can’t even imagine nannying in heels, even high-heeled sneakers.



I know I am a judgmental nanny, but please, please, please, stop forcing little girls to grow up into pre-teen slut buckets already.

It’s bad enough to see little ladies in skinny jeans and leggings, sometimes just a little too much, but I saw a little girl in high-heeled sneakers at the playground wobbling around and it just broke my heart, she couldn’t have been more than seven, maybe eight.

And yes, I know, little girls like to play dress up, but this wasn’t that and I felt an aggrieved for the child.

Keep your Keds for just a few more years kiddo.

End aside.

I actually had a moment of panic about what am I going to wear to work tomorrow, but then laughed at myself.

I’ll wear the same stuff I always wear and I always wear some eclectic thing.

Today the boys were all about my socks, which had big pink and red flowers on them–you couldn’t see them, except when I was rolling on my bicycle–and I forgot all about them until we were playing and the boys discovered them and had to examine the flowers.

Most of their socks have bulldozers or rocket ships on them.

Wondering what to wear is my mind’s way of trying to not think about the review I’m going to have with the mom and dad, who have decided that we should do one after all.

I brought up the needing to take a break thing today.

I didn’t have one yesterday and I know that those are the lumps sometimes when I nanny, but I also am at a different place with my nanny career and I work for a family that works from home, so I have the ability to rely on one of the parents to step in for me.

I realized that my perfectionism and people pleasing was going to kill me and that I can’t be the best nanny ever, ever, if I’m worn out.

I expressed my desire to be flexible and helpful, I know that children change and their schedules change and there will be days when things get wonky and woolly.


I also realized that I have never 1. worked with a family that works from home

Sub point a. Which means that I don’t ever feel relaxed, I feel like I always need to be doing something, loading or unloading the dishwasher, cooking, running errands, doing the laundry, etc.

Sub point b. my bosses are always there “scrutinizing” me.  Now I know that’s my brain being and asshat, but sometimes that’s what it feels like, I am being watched always.

And I am.

There are camera’s everywhere and I don’t pay them any attention.

This is my third gig now with a family that has monitors.

Sometimes they are obvious and sometimes they, the camera’s, are not.


I say I don’t pay them any attention, but I do notice a feeling of relaxing more into my job when I am out with the boys at the park or just anywhere outside the viewing zone (which I was reminded by the outgoing nanny when I asked if there were cameras in the house–they are a little more clandestine than others I have seen–is that I am always on camera, she was alluding to all the cameras out in the world and how it’s very easy to be tracked all day long) which is pretty big.

I believe most people have more to do than monitor me, I’m not paranoid, I just know that I feel better when I am not under the bosses eye.

There’s actually a lot to the job that is different from other gigs, the boys are older than the children I normally take care of, I have worked predominately with babies and toddlers.

And parents, that for the most part, did not work from home–although there have been a few.

So, the dynamic is different and it will be good to sit down with the mom and dad.

I know they don’t want to lose me, the “you’re the best nanny we have ever had,” comment assuaged any concern around that.

It’s just sticking to me guns and saying what I need and hearing what they need.

And being flexible.

I don’t want to be the broken nanny.

That is what I expressed today, that I don’t want to burn out, that I want the best for the boys and that means being fresh, and I want to do my best in for the family, accommodating their schedule the best way I can.

It’s a balancing act.

It always is.

I don’t know what I will wear, suffice to say, not heels.

What I wear doesn’t matter so much.

What I bring does.

He rolled over on his back, placed his hand in mine and looked at me with deep brown eyes and his flushed face, warm from a nap and a snuggle with the best stuffed cat in the universe, “I love you Carmen, cuddle with me please.”

Deal kiddo.

Happy to be of service.

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