Hitler's Nanny

Although, I prefer Au Pair...

I've been coming into my own in this Nanny gig.

This evening, I gave Cavin his first "Time Out" since I've started watching him. And it didn't even phase me. Though I'm convinced he hates me now. I'm no longer concerned with being well liked. I'm more interested in having these little tots mind me. And the Control Freak within is much more interested in WINNING. It's like a game.

Friday night, I had a Hawaiian Stand Off in Island's with Caden when asking him to take just TWO MORE bites of his burger... a reasonable request since I allowed him to jack around in eating all the french fries in the world and stuffing himself with milk to his little heart's content. We sat there for a half an hour. He pouted. He sulked. And then, he took FIVE more bites. Three more than what I had originally required. God damn, I'm good.

I know, I know, I'm quite sick. But they know what they're doing. And they're not the boss of me. I even kept Karnin abreast of their behavior through text messages and told her I had to put Cavin in his place and she agreed. "That's why you're my nanny," she texted.

Cavin is five and old enough to know. He threw a wooden train track at such a velocity, it surely would have mildly wounded his brother of two had it made contact with the toddler's noggin. It came very close. I saw Aston's hair fly up as it whizzed by narrowly missing the back of his pumpkin head.

I calmly but firmly told Cavin not to throw things and explained he could have quite severely hurt his brother. Or at least prompted me to break out the Bactine and Neosporin salve. He was sorry and so I dropped it. Not but an hour later he threw a Mega Block up into the air, where it hit the ceiling fan and ricocheted back towards earth at great speed nearly taking my head off. Not really but it sounded better written that way for a dramatic effect.

That's when the Iron Fist came crashing down and Cavin was immediately banished to Never Never Piss Off your Nanny Land. (He had to sit up against the wall for two minutes.)
So The Rules of the Lough House- Lights Out at 9p so I tucked the munchkins snug into their beds. Cavin went willingly though Aston doth prostest too much. He's in his crib currently, wailing and throwing a slightly gigantic tantrum. And up goes the volume of the widescreen tv... SportsCenter, you know. Besides--It's the law. 9p bed time. And he can howl away all he pleases...

Because just like in outer space, when you're in the crib... "Nobody can hear you scream..."

If He Keeps This Up ...

There's going to be a Julie-shaped hole through the door.

I just don't know him yet. And he's leaving all these sweet, charming voice messages and texts that almost make me dry heave. Almost.

So if he wants THIS he's going to have to slow it way the EFF down. Cause I'm not ready. I like my life the way it is. All about me and stuff. No compromise. No sacrifice. Just me.

He needs to pull up the Emergency Brake and bust a Barney Rubble. We're talking slower than in a School Zone. Or parking lot even. Let's just pull it over, put it in park and set a spell.
And The Roster is just fine as is. I can't be taking on any new players. The team is good for the rest of the season and I'm not looking for a trade. I don't have room in my life for anyone new at the moment. Thank you, and we'll keep your resume on file for future reference. Maybe that's fear talking but I don't feel the need to be trusting anyone or opening up to another person just to be disappointed later on down the road. Here's GPS and these are my coordinates. Just 25 degrees North of Emotionally Unavailable. And that's just where I'm at.

Today though, uncharacteristically- I thought about him for a few minutes. And it scared me so I stopped thinking altogether. I had to physically shake my head to make it stop.

It's so weird to be on This Side of things. I'm usually the smitten kitten. It's actually quite refreshing. I rather like it. It's nice dating someone finally without getting a Case of The Crazies. I'm not used to this. But I'll take it.

He actually has been doing research on baseball and the Red Sox. Which though a little bit annoying is kinda, sorta, almost, maybe a tiny bit adorable. Grrrrrrrr. I'm so fighting adorable. I won't have it. I cannot have IT. I don't want to like This One.

So I'm throwing down The Gauntlet. He gets to jump through hoops. Walk the ends of the earth. Climb mountains. Poor bloke. He caught me at a Bad Place at a Bad Time. But if he's up for the assignment, great. If not... there's the door.

But I will say, tonight he had me at "Hello." (Gross, right?) He answers the phone in the same manner and has the same inflections and intonations in his voice as B.W. The Yardstick. No Boy before or after him has ever quite measured up. (I'm talking personality-wise here, people. Have some tact.)

And that, my friends, is a WORLD of TROUBLE.

Because They NEVER Learn ...

So this one so far seems ok.

Nice. Funny. Simple. Down-to-earth. Actually did some homework on the Red Sox for our lunch date on Thursday.

Except-
He makes the fatal mistake tonight... in calling me when a game is on. A RED SOX one. Against the White Sox. A Cardinal Sin (paramount, not St. Louis).

Even if Jacoby Ellsbury himself called me right now from the dugout on his day off since Francona didn't put him in the lineup, I still wouldn't answer. Ok, maybe I would pick up for Ellsbury... but anyone else, it's Voicemail City.

I'm going to have to train this one. And if he doesn't comply, he's out by the time regular season NFL starts...

Child Killer

Photographic Evidence. Exhibit A.

This would be my vehicle. With a live child in it.

That even though Captain A-hole doesn't trust me with my own nieces... it's nice to know there are people in this world who DO. And compensate me for it, to boot. Funny that two relatively complete strangers (I got this gig by way of a referral) don't have problems leaving their child in my care.

Cause according to the Almighty Infallible Older Brother who Shall Remain Nameless, I am an irresponsible, disrespectful liar. Is there any other kind?

Issues, issues, issues. So many that I should be my own magazine publishing company.
*Sigh*

Family members- can't live with them, can't directly knock them out cold with a billy club and then straight-up chuck them over the Santa Monica Pier with cement shoes...

What... Michael Corrleone had Fredo rubbed out... you don't think I know? I've seen the God Father tril, I know how it works, (sh)IT happens.
A family that slays together stays together.

And just in case this line has been compromised or tapped...

Killing is WRONG.