Excuse Me Waiter


There’s a nanny in my soup.

Ugh.

Or soup in the nanny.

Or.

Ha.

Soup all over the nanny.

It’s Friday and of course the weekend is ramping up and there’s a bunch of motion and hustle and bustle and the dog is under foot and the dad’s grilling veggies in the back yard and the mom’s getting ready to go out and the boys are hungry and I was going too fast.

Trying to assuage the three and three-quarters year old, “CARMEN, I’m hungry, I want milky, bread and butter, bread and butter, bread and butter!” heat up my own dinner, get the toast ready for the soup, slice up some apple, get the meds ready for the older boy, and manage to unload the dishwasher all at the same time.

Sometimes.

Well.

I take on too much.

And kersploosh!

The container of broccoli soup splashes out and all over me.

I had broccoli soup down my bra.

Now.

I have had sand in my bra.

Cheerios.

I have had small children wipe runny noses on my shoulders.

I have had babies burp milk, yes, breast milk, freshly pumped by mom, in my hair.

That’ll teach you.

I started wearing my hair up pretty much right after that incident.

I have been peed on, farted on, vomited on.

I have had milk spilt on me, water, fruit juice.

Melted ice cream.

But never.

No.

Not in all my years of being a nanny, over 9 now, but who’s counting.

Have I ever had a container of broccoli soup dumped over my body.

It was like that Nickolodeon thing where they drop the green goo all over you.

It was cold.

Thank God or I would be blogging from the ER.

When I make it, I blend it hot after a full roiling boil of ten minutes so that the broccoli is super tender and easier to blend.

The mom loves my soup so much I make quadruple batches of it.

Usually enough to get through the week and over the weekend.

I suspect I will be making more broccoli soup when I go to work on Monday.

Oh well.

Broccoli soup in my socks.

That could be a great band name.

Broccoli soup on my leggings, on my jean shorts, in and on my nanny clogs.

Thank God for the dog.

SERIOUSLY.

Broccoli soup all over the fridge too and on the floor.

It was a great big mess.

I made light of it, I got it cleaned up with much help from the dad.

I got most of the soup off my clothes.

But.

I was two and a half hours out from the end of the day and the mom had plans and the dad was still working and well.

Gah.

I spent the rest of my day at work smelling like broccoli.

I was channeling Dana Carvey on SNL and chopping broccoli like no ones business.

I stank.

Of course, no one said so and when I went to do the deal, I was warmly welcomed, hugged, and loved on, but I felt awful.

My belly was moist from soup and my bra felt sticky and my socks were green.

Then someone walked in with no shoes on and abscesses all over his arms.

And.

Well.

I was just fine.

Granted.

Happy to get on my scooter after ward and get myself home and into a very hot shower, but fine, really, nobody needed to cry over spilt soup, let alone I.

I think I rolled with it pretty well.

It’s funny, though, sometimes the small stuff can get me the worst.

It is also a great reminder to me to slow the fuck down.

I don’t need to go anywhere this weekend fast.

Despite what my brain says.

And it wants to holler at me.

“YOU GOT WORK TO DO BITCH! GET ON IT!”

Hey.

Shhh.

Thanks for sharing.

I got this.

“I am so glad you are taking a break and doing something social,” my dear, darling, much missed doctor friend told me on the phone as we briefly caught up and confirmed that we would be seeing each other at the birthday party tomorrow.

I am so excited to see her.

Like.

Way excited.

I also confirmed that I would be able to make her son’s first birthday party, in fact, it will be a sweet little reunion of sorts with three of my friends and a very special reminder of the time that we spent at Burning Man just a few years back.

I will be letting myself have some nice social time tomorrow.

I might freak out about the amount of work I have yet to do, there’s more reading than I want to be acknowledging–a chapter of a book got uploaded for one of my classes and it’s far longer than I was expecting–and my Ethics class has a little more reading than I was expecting, but I got an good solid hour today in this morning as well as my morning routine.

And the papers will get written.

They always do.

I saw a friend on facecrack that just turned in her dissertation for her PhD and I was like, shit, I don’t have time for that, how am I ever going to get to that point.

And it was such a clear signal for me to slow down.

Appreciate what I do have.

First.

I don’t smell like broccoli soup anymore.

Second.

I get to connect with my friends tomorrow.

I am also going to do some nice self-care and get my mani/pedi on and an eyebrow wax.

I will do the deal.

I may do some yoga too.

Depends on how early I want to get up.

Either way.

I am making sure I get eight hours of sleep.

I am not scrimping on my sleep.

Or on my recovery.

Nope.

And I’m not fucking writing a dissertation right now either.

Just a couple, er, three, papers.

I’ll be ok.

It’s ok.

I’ve probably already spent more time being anxious about writing the papers then I will actually spend time on writing the papers.

Because.

That’s what I do.

That too, is just fine.

Tonight is not the night to beat myself up.

Not that there ever really is a good time for that.

Tonight is the night to be grateful to be clean, that I have laundry on site, free, not coin-op, that I have had a superb hot shower and I am wearing my favorite lotion and smell heavenly.

I have another cup of tea queued up and hour to wind down and relax.

Tomorrow can wait.

I just have today.

And today.

Was perfect.

Broccoli soup and all.

 

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: