Posts Tagged ‘nanny live’

My Body Hurts

August 16, 2016

My brain hurts.

Everything hurts.

I am not sure why.

It’s not sick hurt.

It’s like I slept on my back hurt in a strange way.

But I slept like a baby, like a tired baby with hot milk in its belly.

In my own bed for the first time in eight days.

I remember putting my head on the pillow and rolling over and I was out.

I mean.

OUT.

I woke up to go to the loo at some point.

I think.

I mean, I usually do, as I like to have a cup of tea before I hit the hay, but I don’t even remember if I did, it was just an assumption.

I woke up when my alarm went off and got moving.

Now that I remember it, I did feel sore when I woke up, but I think I just shrugged it off.

And perhaps it’s tension or psycho-somatic, or who knows, I certainly don’t have to figure it out, but it is certainly there.

And there is no sleeping in my sweet, cozy, dreamy little studio tonight.

No.

I have made my return to Glen Ellen, to Stone Tree, to a week of being in Sonoma, but instead of being in Petaluma, I am at work.

The family’s vacation spot for the summer.

It’s not a bad bed and fuck, the room I have is huge, I mean, really gigantic.

Bigger than my in-law, that’s for certain.

It’s just not my bed.

I will be wrangling up some ibuprofen in a little while, after I blog and make a cup of tea and I think, yes, an episode of Mr. Robot.

I tried to do some Burning Man stuff, order a few last minute things, but I found I didn’t have the focus in me to do so.

I just paid my phone bill and that was all the online activity I could handle, no Amazon shopping for me tonight.

I made it out here ok, although there was a bit of a miscommunication between me and the mom and I didn’t realize that I didn’t have to lock up the house after letting in the housekeeper.

So I was in and around the Mission for many unnecessary hours.

That being said, I made an appearance at one of many fine church basements in the Mission and got right with God.

I figured, a week out of town, a week away from my fellows, from my favorite cafes and food and San Francisco, from my bed, my home, my things, was going to warrant a little getting steady with my emotional, mental, and spiritual needs.

I will be getting compensated for the additional money I had to spend on the rental car, which is nice, but I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with the parents about it.

The conversation happened via text this morning while I was at the house waiting for the cleaner to show up.

And today when I got there.

Well.

I was too busy catching up with the boys who wouldn’t let go of me.

Dinner was had with one leaned against me and the other in my lap, there was no removing myself.

The youngest was such a little darling, he was napping when I showed up and dad had to run to town on an errand, the older boy and mom were out, and it was just the little guy and me and the dog.

Said dog who was so happy to see me it made my heart warm and fuzzy.

When he woke up, the look on his face, incredulous joy.

“Surprise,” I said softly, touching his sweet face, and wiping his little sweaty brow.

He sleeps hot.

“Carmen!  Oh, Carmen, I missed you, I want to go pick tomatoes with you in the garden and make you a salad,” he said all warm and soft and cuddly and my god, my heart.

So much.

So much love.

He crawled into my arms and wrapped himself around me and told me how much he missed me and how much he loved me, and then he took my hand and we walked to the garden and picked tomatoes off the vine and fresh basil.

When the oldest boy got back, he proudly showed me all the places they had picked blackberries and then insisted that we go back up to the garden and pick even more tomatoes, because he too, missed me, loved me, and wanted to make me a tomato salad.

They remembered from last year.

The tomatoes were out of hand and I probably ate two or three each meal, mostly chopped up with sea salt and olive oil, black pepper, lemon balm (it’s a type of herb), oregano, and fresh basil, splash of balsamic and I am a very happy girl.

Both the boys helped me make the salad and then they both ate out of my bowl and dredged their fingers through the olive oil and vinegar and ate bites of grilled chicken off my plate and just were relentless with touching me, cuddling with me, sitting on me.

“Carmen,” the oldest boy whispered to me, “please massage my back again,” he said, then tugged on my hand, when I had stopped to take a bite of dinner.

I melted, just a little bit.

Ok.

A lot bit.

We sat chair to chair and while his brother basically licked the bowl clean, I rubbed his shoulders and told him about my graduate school adventures and the animals I saw at the institute–hawks, the deer, the does and their fawns, the jack rabbit in the grass, the ears so high and big.

I tried to get a photograph of it, it was just huge, but it loped off into the high grass before I was able to get my phone up and open to the camera.

After dinner, which began to devolve, I think the eldest has a bit of a cold he’s struggling with, I let the boys smack me with pillows.

I had a sense that though they were not necessarily mad at me, there was a need to be a little aggressive with their feelings, get out some of the consternation and energy from not getting to see each other for the two weeks I was away from them.

They had missed me and they had feelings around it and they needed to express that too, not just the snuggly love stuff, which not withstanding was divine to experience, so a pillow fight ensued.

And it was absolutely the best.

I set a timer and let them hit me with pillows for three minutes solid without defending myself or hitting them back with the couch pillows.

It was so much fun.

The giggles.

Mine and theirs.

Then, when the alarm rang, we all just collapsed in a heap on the couch and snuggled more.

I was with them far past what should have been my end of day, but I couldn’t resist catching up and re-connecting.

I’ll be here until Friday.

Drive back into SF in the evening then have the weekend in town.

I’ve got some organizing to do in regards to Burning Man, then depending on what next week looks like, I’ll be heading back to Glenn Ellen in the evening on Sunday, I think, for one more week of summer vacation travel nanny fun.

Then off to Burning Man next Friday.

Oof.

Not quite ready yet.

But not really able to do anything more tonight.

Too tired to figure it out right now.

Time for Mr. Robot, I’m into the second season now, cup of tea, apple, bed.

Night y’all.

See you on the flip.

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Sometimes It Takes All Day

August 3, 2014

But I got there.

To my happy place.

Or at least my place of serenity.

Peace with myself, with the world, with the fog and the whistle of it pushing in through the open window of my friend’s car as we drove deeper into the incoming thick of it down Lincoln, headed to the ocean.

I felt my mood elevate, finally after it had been pretty glum all day.

It was just a mix of glum, grey, moody, cranky, can’t quite get my head on straight.

But it got there.

It did.

I just had to keep taking action and then more action and suggestions and inventory and write that down and let go of that person with kindness and go have some fun.

Fun.

What?

Ugh.

The f word again?

Really?

I made my way to the Inner Sunset and got right with the world for an hour over coffee and made a plan of attack for the rest of the day and the week and my life, not really, I exaggerate a little, but I did get some pretty basic instructions on what to do.

One thing, continue to take a little action every day around finding work and we discussed what that would look like and I have a plan of attack for tomorrow and how to begin that.

And also, to not limit myself, I was arguing against Craigslist and she said, why limited yourself, look at it all, look at Craigslist, look at nanny agencies, look at referrals, check in with your people, hell, look into everything, maybe your next job is not being a nanny.

Although that certainly feels like the next obvious thing.

“Maybe you need to do some inventory about why you chose a career that you have to say good-bye to people, children you love, every couple of years.” She said with some deep wisdom that I immediately combatted.

“I did not choose this career!”

Vehement denial.

“It choose me.”

But there’s got to be something there, I do make decisions every day–pay for MUNI, or sneak on the back door; pay your rent early so you don’t have to think about it, or stress while at Burning Man about how to pay your rent; write your blog every night and be accountable to your art, or putz away your life glut watching videos on Netflix; ask a man on a date, or bemoan being single; take a trip to New York when some one invites you to crash at their place, or regret not ever having been to the city that never sleeps, never gone to the Met or eaten at Peter Luger’s (which is on the menu, bring me the steak, bitches) or walked over the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk with a darling friend–so in some way, I made the decision to be a nanny.

I didn’t choose writing code.

I didn’t choose marketing.

I didn’t choose doctoring or nursing or law school.

I didn’t choose retail or waiting tables or dentistry.

I choose being a nanny.

But as the child studied me in line today at the cafe and I looked at his deep brown eyes, this level of communication and honest curiosity and love passed and I know that I have chosen well.

Life, the Universe, God if you will, may choose different for me at any moment.

I get to keep working on that, seeing where I am best of service and going with it, how can I help best, where are my talents utilized best, how am I being my best person, what am I putting out into the world.

What place of love and creativity can I come from?

How to access that and pass it along and inspire?

Being a writer, even in this small capacity is so important to me.

I was trying and doing a poor job of explaining to my friend who drove me home, that I was not attempting to break a plateau with my blog, to burst to the next level of things, to make money from my blog.

It is here to serve me, or I to serve it.

I don’t have that many followers, but I feel like every single one of them is a brightness in my being, a little flame of love that I have gathered to me by showing up and being my honest, heart on my sleeve person.

I am more myself because I do this.

And that is service.

Doing what I love allows other people to do what they love and I know that being a nanny has helped with doing that.  I get to be surrounded by loads of love and it’s not often that I take my work home with me.

Yes, it does affect me in other ways, there are a lot of times when I think it might do me good to interact with adults, but there is a kind of core communication that is enacted between me and a child that I don’t always get with the grown up world.

The filters that I place before myself before I engage with the world in general are not up so much with the children I take care of and I laugh with them in ways that blow open the doors on my heart in a way that I cannot full explain without sounding like a complete goon.

“You are such a nanny!” My friend said tonight as we were catching up in the cafe.

I had suggested that if he thought naps were fun he could organize a nap party, get together with a bunch of friends and some sleeping pads and boxes of carton milk and a couple of cookies and soft fuzzy blankets and have a snooze party.

I giggled.

Yup.

I also gleefully opened up my messenger bag, which in my head I had called a book bag, harking back to my days at elementary school and not buying the things I wanted to for school supplies because the family funds were so short, to show off my day of taking action to get my joy on.

I left the Inner Sunset on a mission to have fun and that meant going to Flax before heading up to Noe Valley.

I got stickers and a Claire Fontaine notebook and a new pencil sharpener and pencil bag (I already have a pen bag, but I got one specifically for pencils), a set of twenty-four colored pencils, and yes, friends, I bought a coloring book.

Granted, it’s the Tattoo Coloring Book by Megamunden, so not like I got some Disney Princess bullshit, but yes, it is a coloring book.

Because sometimes that’s how I have fun.

I color.

I also collage.

I also do sticker art.

Shut it.

It makes me happy and so, when I opened up my book bag, er, my messenger bag tonight when I got home, I was happy to pull out my little treasures and know that in between kicking nanny butt and taking action to find new families to work with and new babies to love, I get to have some fun for me.

It took all day.

But I got my fun on.

In twenty four different colors of joy.

 


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