29th
June 29, 2015
I suppose
that for the time being, my need to type on the computer can only be satiated
in an internet-free activity. I shall therefore endeavor to begin a blog, a
blog describing the exciting events that begin to occur in my life as a nanny
(which is what I am now, for the Talec family who reside weekdays in Bordeaux,
and weekends in their penthouse in Arcachon, with the exception of the past
couple of days till tomorrow).
I shall
begin by describing my object of work, the children.
Jack is six
years old. He has large blue eyes, a cute little nose and soft blonde curls. He
is well groomed, put together, and a little insane. He doesn’t care about much,
like any six year old, yet he is surprisingly bossy. He’s obviously easily
influenced. He already knows an entire array of swear words, and likes to be
encouraged as a ‘sex-God’ (he even has this little stripper dance, where he
flips off his little shirt and engages in this weird dance where he points
seductively at an imaginary crowd). He also loves religious stringencies-during
his parents’ process of conversion, he’s the one who reminds everyone that they
forgot to bless this food, or forgot to wash their hands that morning.
Jane is
different. She’s less sociopathic, even though she is a year younger than her
brother. Unsurprisingly, she craves the same loving as her brother, and is a
hopeless romantic (romantic, not sex Goddess). Secretly, I’ve already made up
my mind as to who my favorite is… She gets quietly frustrated when things don’t
go as planned, unlike her older brother, who throws a tiny tantrum instead.
She, like most little girls, is a sucker for desperate femininity-her favorite
character in Scooby-Doo is Daphne, and her ‘pajama shoes’ are ‘Frozen’-themed
pumps, with rhinestones and little rubber heels. She’s definitely easier than
her brother, which I’m relieved about because her brother is off to camp for
ten days mid-July.
Now the parents.
Clearly,
money is not a problem with them. Aside from a full-time nanny and a fistful of
houses around the area, they have an awful chiuahua (who is quiet, thank God)
which they take to dog-care what seems like every day (as the children did not
protest or ask questions when Mr. Jordan T took him out in his Louis Vuitton
bag this morning) and Mrs. Julianne T paid 461 Euros for my ticket-not
including suitcases (which I was strongly unimpressed about). They are both in
the process of conversion. They’ve known each other for 15 years now, been
married for 7, and have remained best friends since. She used to be a
professional dancer, he’s just awkward (I’m sure he has a story, but he makes
me feel slightly uncomfortable around him. I shall therefore proceed to ask him
in the near future). It is clear who has the upper hand in the relationship. An example of her character as a crazy ballet mum: she
gently told her 5 year old off for mismatching her sandals with her dress; “¿Sandalias rosas fucsia con un vestido
blanco y azul? Estarás de broma, Salomé…” Also, the child owns more
dresses, I think, than I’ve owned in a lifetime. She wears these adorable Chloé
and Baby Dior outfits with matching shoes and bows to the beach. It makes me
feel a tad self conscious (she asked me why I wore the same shoes two days in a
row, to which I had to fight the urge to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at her…)
My day
consisted of the following: wake up at 9, breakfast, take the kids to ride
their bikes down-town, a bit of TV, lunch, more TV, drop them off at the kid’s
club (that means 3 and a half hours to myself!), pick them up at 6, TV and
drawing, dinner (which they loved, and I loved that they loved it), TV then
bedtime, together with a story. They’re easy kids, in all. We had a bit of a
mishap in the shower, where the kids and I went into a frenzy about the
claustrophobic bathroom, as the hot water didn’t seem to work in their bathtub,
but it all worked out in the end. I know I’ve gained their approval.
However, I
am in complete awe of the responsibility Mrs. T has pretty much blindly
placed on me. I didn’t bathe them in sunscreen before the kid’s club, nor get
them caps (I remembered after, and ran back home to fetch the various missing
objects). I gave them chocolate for mid-afternoon snack, which obviously melted
all over the place. I showered them and cooked for them and put them to bed. I
am shocked at my versatility, but also at their mother. I told my own mother
and she told me she was testing the water: how well could I cope? I suppose
she’s right. I’m the youngest Mary Poppins she’s had, and it’s a bit of a risk.
I hope I’ll be able to cut back my days so I can go to the wedding-by working
hard and consistently, I hope to muster up the courage to convince her.
À demain!
