The nanny

Long time, no blog, I apologize. I blame being in two shows concurrently (why yes, I am insane) and having taken on the exciting new role as nanny to the adorable six month old who lives next door. (Perhaps I should have saved the "insane" disclaimer until after that last statement.)

Honestly, it's great. Once you've broken the golden rule "never let 'em outnumber you," additional kids seem to just kind of fall into the mix. It's just been this week so far, but I'm optimistic. My kids love her. Well, the older two do. Lily seems unsure of just who this person is who gets bottles when she doesn't, and who gets to sit in her high chair, but she's coping. Yesterday, when I was giving Baby G her afternoon bottle, Lily crawled over, pulled herself up on the couch and screeched "MAMA!" joyfully. Baby G, being an only child and therefore unaccustomed to the default level of LOUD that this house operates at on a daily basis, freaked out momentarily but then went back to eating. Indoctrination: complete.

So today I got brave. There was a "creative movement" class at the library for three and four year olds, and it was raining hard. So we decided to brave the weather and head out. I loaded four kids into the car. Performed three car seat maneuvers and helped Mary with her booster. Made sure Baby G could see her car seat toys, handed Lily an animal cracker, handed Anna something, and fielded six million questions from Mary on the three mile drive to the library.

We arrived, and it was still pouring. I unbuckled Mary's booster, and as I did, the key in my hand went flying. I reached out uselessly as it arched over my hand and landed...somewhere. I looked in the backseat. I couldn't see it. I looked on the floor. Nothing. I got out and crouched over in the rain to see if it was under the seats. It wasn't.

I looked at the rain. I looked at the kids. I had no food for the older girls, only a bottle for Baby G, we were three miles from home and all I had was a debit card. The buses are e-fare or cash only. I got Mary onto the sidewalk and moved her booster. Nothing. I got Anna to stand next to her - nothing under her seat either. I moved the babies around like jigsaw pieces. Nada. The key had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared into the ether. And the rain, which had temporarily abated, started up again.

Defeated, we entered the library, Mary and Anna getting in the way as I juggled Lily on my left hip and Baby G's bucket on my right arm. I fired off a text to my husband in Boston, though he was hours away by train. I sent a text to my friend venting.

"I'll call you back," she said.

So I sat back, hoping that when the class was over some librarian would take pity on me and watch my kids so I could search the car Canadian Border Drug Patrol Style. Lily crawled around, Baby G fussed a bit in her carrier, so I swung her.

"Are they all yours?" a mother asked. I looked at Lily, clearly not much over one, and Baby G, clearly not a newborn, and decided I didn't have it in me to be too snarky.

"The older three are. I watch my neighbor's baby during the week."

"I was wondering how you'd managed to have two babies so soon!"

Occam's Razor, this town does not know it.

My phone buzzed. My friend Paula.

"Is it on a keychain?"

I realized that my friend was taking a massive one for the team and searching my car and I almost wept in gratitude. A few minutes later, another text: The key had been found wedged between the seats between the two car seats. How it managed to obtain enough force to do that, I have no idea.

"You need a key chain, Miss Kimberly," Paula laughed at me. She's entitled.

Back in the class, Mary was enthusiastically participating. Anna was somewhat participating, but giving everyone a good suspicious look for good measure. The babies were having a bottle (Baby G) and trying to get in everyone's way (Lily).

"How old are they?" another mother asked.

"A year and six months," I said. Her eyes went a little wide. "They're not both mine."

"Oh!" she laughed.

"Yeah, I've got this gestation thing streamlined to five months," I said. She got the joke. Thank God.

Class ended, we loaded back into the car, came home, did lunch and now everyone is, for the moment, peaceful and quiet. Outside it looks like nine o'clock. It's starting to feel a bit like it to me, too.