Friday, January 30, 2009

And they're off

So our nanny, after just one week, dumped us. I'd like to paint a picture (for literary purposes) of us being nightmare parents making impossible demands, but alas it's a lot less dramatic than that. She was doing part time work at a nursery, desperately short on staff they asked her to work full time, she decided the kids there needed her more, and the money (being more hours) was better.

All perfectly understandable and noble reasons.

I would have liked some notice though. Other than, say, a text message on the morning she's supposed to come to work, followed by an email. But what can you do? I'm glad it was only after one week and then we were away for a week on holiday, so Julia didn't really have time to get attached to her. Had that been the case I probably would have been a lot less forgiving of what was in effect an utterly shit position to put someone in.

This means going back to working at night and on weekends in order to deliver to my clients on time. I probably shouldn't have taken on the extra work, but then, foolish me, I thought I had a part-time nanny secured.

To make matters worse I'm ill, but walking wounded. Julia is also on the mend, following two nights in a French hospital while we were on hols, but that's an other story entirely.

I keep trying to write about it, but find it so utterly upsetting to revisit that experience. I will however say I have only praise for the French hospital in Solange that we found ourselves in. Clean, a lovely paediatric ward, fantastic nurses and doctors, and a hot chocolate with french bread, butter and jam (on the side) for the mum's who stayed over night with their little ones, for breakfast. And this was a government hospital. I know right?

When your child gets sick it is very worrying. When your child is so sick that he or she needs to go to the hospital and actually gets booked in, it's gut churning nausea-inducing worrying. Like discovering that it was you who accidentally left the office unlocked the night before it gets robbed, and knowing that you've got to tell your boss/or get found out. That kind of feeling times 100, because in this case the person you love more than life itself is so very vulnerable and you are completely at the mercy of other people to make them better. It is for those control freaks among us, an utterly anxiety-provoking situation to be in.

But yes, she is a lot better, despite a very runny nose that drips into the back of her throat and makes her cough. Thanks to everyone who wrote emails and Facebooked us their good wishes.

So aside from the emotional and worrying experience of Julia getting ill, we had a good holiday. I actually managed three days of skiing, but a lot of it wasn't pretty. I'm not pretty when I ski. In my fantasy I'm attired in a svelte figure hugging all in one with fur-trimmed hat a-la Bond girls, but in reality I wear every conceivable safety device available, making me look like one of those people they use to train attack dogs on. And if they were to do the equivalent of training wheels attached to ski's I'd probably buy those too.

I think a very good psychological profile could be developed by watching people's approach to skiing, specifically people who are relatively new to it. Mine would read something like this:
You are cautious to the extreme. You are afraid of trying things that are outside of your comfort zone. You anticipate the worst. The Kennedy who died skiing, did so trying to catch a football while skiing backwards. This is unlikely to happen to you as you haven't even mastered skiing forwards. And you are crap at catching balls. So stop worrying about it. You would ski better after an alcoholic drink.

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