NANNYGATE

If someone doesn’t show up for work is she quitting her job or just being an asshole?
Me, Wednesday Sept 3, 2008



One of my husband’s favorite theories is, “Hope is a terrible strategy.” He says things like this all the time as if repetition per theory justifies the exorbitant amount of money he spent to go to an Ivy League Business School to learn such things. A day doesn’t go by without him quoting some hero of wealth with a quick, tight theory that encapsulates a moment. Instead of admitting that I’m not listening or worse yet, that I have little interest in business, I nod and occasionally quote back to him some theory just to make him feel like he’s had an impact. But the notion that hope alone is nothing to bank on resonates with me, especially since becoming a Mom. Especially since deciding to hire a nanny.

I long ago stopped hoping my nanny would get my name right or that she’d show up when expected. So after spending 3 hours waiting for her to arrive on time to work on a Wednesday morning, after two weeks off with pay followed by a paid Labor Day Monday, it comes as no surprise to me when my phone finally does chirp the ring of doom.

“Hello, Merta? It’s me, Dalia. My Mother broke her leg.”

She pauses as if she’s given a complete and logical explanation for why she’s three hours late for work when she’s been given countless warnings about missed days of work, and hasn’t called until now.

Well did she break your phone, too? I ask not half or even a little bit kidding.

“Maybe Friday should be my last day,” she says with a decisiveness that betrays her lack of emotion on my behalf.

Recognizing that losing a nanny is a chaos inducing inconvenience rather than a life spent starving in Darfur, battling cancer, or finding out you’re related to one of the morons on MTV’s “The Hills, I try to keep it all in perspective. But since I’ve had more nannies than children, my patience has worn thin.

In one year of Motherhood, I’ve had two nannies; both excellent at the job as long as one doesn’t consider showing up for work a job requirement. There were always last minute illnesses, surprise children’s school conferences and the inevitable “mother with a broken leg” excuses. Each excuse requiring a day, two, four off from work, unpaid and unaccounted for. I’m left wondering if I’m the only person in America that actually needs to work. Because it seems like there’s an awful lot of people who don’t mind missing out on a day or seven of work and a day or seven of a paycheck.

Every Mom who hears my story feels my pain, even those who do have cancer and are related to morons on TV. But with every offering of sympathy also comes the inevitable, “Haven’t you been through this like…a lot?” Yes, I’m quick to respond. I give people too many chances. I guess I was just hoping…” my voice trailing off, me knowing that I sound about nannies like 20 year-old girls do about boyfriends, hoping it will all work out knowing that it’s a terrible strategy.

Others offer a more cynical opinion. “It’s just how they are. They live a flip flop kind of life, they’re not reliable,” one relative suggests not explaining if the “they” so politely referenced is Nannies or Hispanics in general. Another asks where our nanny was born, then seems confused, “But California has all those cheap Mexicans who will work for free. I didn’t know they were so uppity like the girls from the Islands. They’re very high maintenance.” Suddenly, it seems that a crap employee is no longer just that, they’re a representation of a whole race brought down in one fell swoop.

Instead of joining the cynics, I opt to get back on the horse, get back out there, and start interviewing others. Out of three appointments I make, two candidates don’t show up, one never calling to cancel, the other saying she’s “just too tired.” The third, a lovely girl from Pensacola, peaks my interest until she explains that she’s hoping to get into nannying “to get out of bartending” I feel like she just might not be the right fit as I imagine my son’s first word being “highball.”

I make three more appointments for the following day. Each potential Nanny from a varying country around the world; one Guatemalan, another Israeli, another Russian. One by one, before each woman’s appointment, my phone rings, each canceling her interview.

With each passing cancellation, I begin to miss my old Nanny more and more. Maybe I should call her, I think to myself, just to see if she really meant to quit. Sure she wasn’t reliable and was so forgetful she could forget her own name, but at least I knew her bad qualities. When your kids are involved, the devil you know is better than the nanny you don’t know.

But settling for someone who’s unreliable, uninterested, and quite frankly unavailable is not a solution. Maybe that’s what got me here in the first place, settling for someone sub par to take care of the person who matters most to me, my son. Sure we can’t do any better, women go from settling for bad boyfriends to bad nannies simply out of fear of the unknown. There’s no one race lazier or more unreliable than another, but you get what you settle for in any aspect of life. People are as reliable as you require them to be, as concerned as needed.

The truth is, my son is the most valued thing in my world, I shouldn’t settle for anything but the best, wherever the person is from. So until I find the right person, I guess it’s just he and I, napping, playing, trying to get our work done. I know I’ll find the right person; she’s out there somewhere, at least I hope so. Sure, it’s a terrible strategy, but sometimes hope is all you’ve got.