Day 5 of Nanny Cara on the job

 Friday, December 9th

• 6:45 a.m. – The Kid and I have settled into a routine. In the mornings, I drink coffee while she makes her lunch and breakfast, and we talk. Today, I quizzed her again for her test. I'm also driving her to school without her input. I feel confident I know my way now. 

• 7:54 a.m. – I made it! I'm darn proud of myself. My sense of direction sucks, but I'm learning my way around town and am more familiar with the car. As The Kid gathers her stuff, I throw test questions at her.

• 2:45 p.m. – I'm not sure how the day goes by so fast. I'm not doing anything like I said I would. I've not exercised. I've done little writing. I blame the fact I forgot my knee brace and exercise clothes. Still, the day flies by. I am picking up The Kid today as she has an after-school appointment.

• 3:56 p.m. – I sat in the car and did work while The Kid is finished with her appointment and needs to get home as her admirers are waiting! We had discussed doing some Christmas shopping, but she needs friend interaction more than life itself. Or maybe she just wants to run amok because I allow this. Does her mother not? I'm beginning to question myself, although I was told the kid hits the rec center daily after school. Am I being played? In my defense, the guidance given by her mother was minimal, and truthfully, The Kid is responsible. What the heck. I drive back and let her head to the rec center again, although I give her a specific time to be home. That's so I can feel in charge! She agrees. See? How can I fault her when she doesn't argue? It is oddly great psychology. I wonder if she learned this from her Uncle. I always end up feeling like an idiot. I need to remember this technique in my home life.

• 5:52 p.m. – The Kid texts, asking if she can be home at 6:15. I didn't see that text because my phone isn't dinging when a text comes through, and I am so busy. That last part was a joke. I'm not sure what I was doing when she texted, but because I didn't answer, she staggered in when I told her to be home. I'm still not paying attention to the time. Her plan tonight is to go to some sporting game at school with Friend CD. They will eat there. 

• 7:30 p.m. – The Kid texts me that she is now at laser tag. Hmm…I'm not sure how to respond to that. What happened to the game? I reply with, "Uh?" She does not answer that, so I go back to watching some show I discovered on Amazon, having learned how to work the TV remote. In my head, I hear the horrified gasps of my children. "You never would have let us do that!"

• 9:01 p.m. – The Kid texts they are on the way home. Because I've locked the door, she has to ring the doorbell. I ask, "Who is it?" She says, "Yo, Mama!" I love The Kid. This is totally my humor! I laugh hilariously and let her in. She gives me a report on the night. Bottom line - these 13-year-olds were running amok! Friend AB joined them at some point, and I asked if her father knew she had ventured from the sporting event to laser tag. He did! I contemplate this turn of events and conclude he was having a rough day when he came to my door. I shall let him have that one mistake.

• 11:00 p.m. – I'm pooped. The Kid is like the Energizer Bunny. She is still going. We have to be up by 9 for the World Cup, with no exceptions, I am told. The Kid is serious about her soccer. There is strewn paperwork all over the kitchen of her lists of players, predictions on the finals, and her favorites. No homework, mind you. While I read, The Kid is on the phone with her admirers. Again, she is hopping from place to place, and I've guessed she wants privacy. I want to tell her that lowering her volume will afford her that, but I really could care less about their conversations. I find it hilarious that she moves if I enter the room where she is talking. Currently, she is in the basement. 

• 11:30 p.m. – The Kid announces she is going to bed. She always says goodnight and tells me she loves me. Maybe I should adopt her and get a do-over in the parenting department. Of course, her mother got her to this point, so perhaps I should focus on where I went wrong. Or, better yet, maybe parents should raise their kids to a certain point and then trade them off for the next phase. I should jot this idea down and think more about it. It could be a social experiment. Or a TV show like the one where couples marry without seeing each other. Ah! I could do this and then write a book! On second thought, I should start a Nanny gig. This is fun. I get to travel, live in a different house, and parent a child differently than I did my own. It gets me out of my boring ho-hum routine. Okay, this is a better idea! I will work on it. 

• Sometime after midnight - The lights are off, and we are enclosed in our rooms. I am going to sleep. I'm not sure about The Kid, but she is safe and all the doors are locked.

Day 4 - Nanny Cara on the job

 Thursday, December 8th

• 7:00 a.m. – I am downstairs before The Kid, but she is up. She appears two minutes later and starts cooking her lunch. I make and drink my coffee. She announces we are going to Starbucks for breakfast and orders her meal. I tell her to take her medication. She yells my name. I make a mental notation for my list.

• 7:15 a.m. – I didn't clean the thermos she used yesterday well enough. I lecture her on cleaning for herself. She attempts it, gives up after half a minute, and fills her backup thermos. 

• 7:25 a.m. – The Kid can't find her pink binder. This is, according to her, my fault. She knows I took it. I try not to laugh. Already this morning, I was accused of doing something with her lunchbox. That was true. Yesterday, I washed it. But I did not put it where she thought I should put it on the counter. That was found. Not so the pink binder. I never saw it yesterday. She runs around looking for it, shrieking my name. I'm up to ten times on her usage of my name. I suggest she look in her room. She tells me it is never in her room. I ask where she saw it last since she never opened it to do homework... That shuts her up. When she returns from her room, she is subdued. I'm not sure what that means, but she is ready to leave, so I go with the flow. I notice she is shoeless as we leave the house and enter the garage. I am told this is on purpose as her shoes are in the car. Today is PE, so she is wearing sweats, and having failed yesterday in attempting to get her to wear a coat, I don't even broach the topic. Probably that will count against me and my nanny grade, but she's on an antibiotic!

• 7:35 a.m. – The Kid has her Starbucks, gets into the car, and promptly drops it. Globs of hot chocolate splatter everywhere -- the dash, the floor, her backpack, her shoes. The Kid says, "It's fine. I'll clean it later." I laugh hilariously. then, I immediately sober as she tells me we have to return home because she forgot to take her meds. Grr...I told her to do this before we left.

• 7:40 a.m. - We are back at the house for her to get her medication. She always has an answer when I tell her to take it. Today's excuse was "I can't because I haven't eaten yet!" When she returns and downs it, I barely lecture. My kids would be shocked! Had this been Mommy Cara, I would've ranted and raved all the way back to the house and all the way to school, and the veins in my forehead would've been engorged. Nanny Cara is all, "Oh, for heaven's sake." I do give a small lecture on responsibility. Who am I? 

• 7:45 a.m. – The Kid forgot to tell me where to turn, so I bypassed it and now we have to turn around. She is nonplussed. I am silently panicking that we will be late.

• 7:52 a.m. – We made it! Off she goes. I remind her to search for the pink binder. "Goodbye, Cara," she shouts. Number eleven.

• 3:15 p.m. – I filled my day with some work after cleaning up after The Kid. How can one little thing make such a mess? I should nickname her The Tornado. 

• 3:30 p.m.- The front door opens, and The Kid shouts my name. (Twelve) "Guess what? I found my pink binder!" She apologizes for accusing me after I prod for that. It was on the bus. Which means she didn't have it all day in class. I shake my head and inquire how she did on the religion test. She tells me not to ask. I am not surprised. I shake my head again. My girls would be horrified to know I am letting this roll off my back. Mommy Cara would've reined down hell and damnation for these horrors. I like being Nanny Cara...way less stressful.

• 4:00 p.m. – The Kid rejects watching volleyball again and heads downtown with her Friend AB (fake name to protect the innocent) for important social things. I have a moment of wondering if I should force the matter. What to do? Hmm…what role do I play? Good cop? Bad cop? I go with fun-loving, who cares, Nanny Cara. Mainly because she is gone before I can decide.

• 4:30 p.m. – Someone is at the door. Ha! He can't get in because I keep this house locked tighter than Fort Knox. I peek through the crazy mish-mash door glass and recognize The Kid's uncle. I invite him in, where we stand in the foyer and chat. He is checking how things are going. I can't produce evidence the kid is alive because she is downtown. Actually, I stalked her location, and she is now at Chipotle. Uncle and I talk Steelers football. I ask if he wants to sit. He says no and leaves. I'm sure I was judged. I did feel nervous that I couldn't produce The Kid. Oh, well.

• 6:30 p.m. – I decide it is time for The Kid to be home. I stalk her. She is now back at the rec center. Before I can text her to return home, there is another knock at the door. Suddenly this is Grand Central Station! I peer through the mish-mash glass door but do not recognize the man on the walkway. I hesitate a second since opening the door will put us face to face without a storm door between us. I reminded myself this isn't Florida or anywhere else USA because Steph has uttered this time and time again. She finds my horror at unlocked doors silly. I open the door. The man does not offer a hello or an introduction. He is here to get Friend AB. I assume he is a relation, although really, shouldn't I have asked for ID? Oops. I tell him she isn't here and that the girls are at the rec center. This is unwelcome news to him. He scoffs, raises his voice, and tells me AB told him she was here. As if I'm holding AB hostage upstairs. Since I'm not about to let him inside, I repeat that he can find AB at the rec center. This is obviously too much for him, and he explodes, grunting loudly as she does so. "She told me to pick her up here. Now you're telling me she's at the rec center? Earlier they were downtown. Are you -- he immediately corrects that to -- are we just letting them run amok now? They're 13!" He stares at me again to see if I'm understanding. I stare back. I know how old The Kid is, but I'm unsure how he wants me to respond. I consider letting him know I'm just the nanny, but since I haven't asked for the aforementioned ID, I stay quiet. I do think about how my children would find this nonchalant behavior. Never in a million years would I have allowed them to jaunt off to the rec center down the street! Hmm...does this make me a helicopter parent? As I contemplate this, the man asks me how I know they are at the rec center. Ah, now he is questioning my skills. I consider how to answer this without saying I stalked The Kid and realize I am over this man's behavior and attitude. I tell him The Kid keeps in touch, hoping this makes her sound responsible and grown-up. I am suddenly defensive and protective of my little charge. I can't help it he has zero control over his kid! If this is even her father. He hasn't said he is. I'm assuming. Hmm…maybe I should make a comment about that! He says, "How? With a chip in her neck?" That does it. He has succeeded in pushing my buttons. I tell him The Kid is chipped in multiple areas, from her head to her toes. He senses I've reached the limit because he mutters a thank you and turns away. I lock the door, so he can hear it. Then, I text The Kid and tell her I believe I just met AB's dad, that he is not happy, and he is currently on his way to the rec center. I tell her to get her butt home, and when she returns, I am told yes, that was AB's father.

• 8:00 p.m. – We have eaten leftovers, and The Kid is allowing me to quiz her for her test in Social Studies. We spend a reasonable amount of time on this before she heads to the shower. She has not shouted my name again. Of course not. The list will close at eleven Cara's.

• 9:30 p.m. – We silently read on the couch when The Kid closes her phone and announces she is tired and going to bed. I worry for a split second, then I have great fun teasing her. I even videotape her saying this to send to her mother. But then I realize I'm ready too. I resist. She goes to bed. I follow an hour later.

Day 3 - Nanny Cara on the job

 Wednesday, December 7th

• 6:30 a.m. – My alarm goes off. I hear nothing but silence. I knew it. Last night, The Kid sneeringly told me she gets up on her own. Please! I've been down this road with my own kids. Thank goodness I set the alarm early. I roll out of bed and...oops. My bad. The Kid is up. She shouts my name. I grunt.

• 7:00 a.m. – I have coffee. The Kid is Ms. Chatty at dawn while she cooks pasta for her lunch. Outside, the neighbors' Christmas lights shine enough for me to see it is rainy and dreary. I forgot how much I hate this hour and northern winters. We chat via SnapChat and text with her mother.

• 7:25 a.m. – We are in the car. I can't remember how to reverse it. This happened in April when I drove this car. The Kid panics and tries to call her mother in the Netherlands. I start laughing. Who calls the Netherlands for automotive instruction? These youngsters today! The Kid keeps shouting my name as if that will magically kick me into gear. Her mother doesn't answer. By accident, I figure it out and back out of the driveway. The Kid forgoes her planned Starbucks run because we "will be late!"

• 7:40 a.m. – We arrived at school way too early. I park, and we sit in the parking lot and talk. 

• 9:30 a.m. – I am back at the house. After dropping off The Kid, I made it to Giant with the GPS and grocery shopped. I want to prepare a somewhat healthy meal. I've also done a load of laundry, cleaned up The Kid's morning cooking mess, and picked up and straightened her bedroom and bathroom. Jeez, look how much one can get done if one rises early. The bedroom wasn't as bad as I pictured it. Mostly it is littered with last night's printing trash and clothes that could either be dirty or clean. I throw them all into the hamper to wash. I also open the window to clear out any sick residue. The bathroom is horrible. She owns too much stuff, including the cosmetic refrigerator she purchased when I was last here. It is unplugged, unused, and takes up too much real estate on the sink. 

• 3:30 p.m. – I got a lot of work done today and am waiting for The Kid to arrive. I could've sworn they told me 3:15. I go on my phone and check her location via the SnapChat app. It shows her driving a car. I'm not sure where she got a convertible, but as I ponder that, she barrels into the front door, shrieking my name. 

• 3:50 p.m. – Like a tornado, The Kid blew through the kitchen, up the stairs, shouted things, and promptly disappeared out the back door. Her stuff is everywhere. I clean her lunchbox, inspect her bedroom enough to see she has managed to get her dirty clothes into the hamper, and I return to work. She is off to the rec center. Initially, the plan was to head to the Nook to watch her volleyball team practice. Before I arrived in PA, she broke her middle finger, and while she can't participate, her mother still makes her go. Since I'm not her parent and understand that she needs to catch up with her admirers, I don't push it. Plus, she's been sick. Going out in the cold to sit for three hours seems silly. We both agree we can do it tomorrow.

• 6:15 p.m. – Dinner is cooking. The kid is back and on the couch. I suggest she study for the tests that her teachers did not make her take today. She quizzes me on religion. "Who has 12 kids?" I answer with, "John." The answer is Jacob. I ask who is Jacob? She responds, "A guy who had 12 kids." I'm not sure she is learning much in religion class at this Catholic school. For fun, I tell her I will now quiz her. I ask, "Who said, Give me liberty, or give me death." Her answer? "Jesus." I rest my case. Thankfully, she is returning next year to public school. She does not want me to help her study. We also had to ask Alexa who said the liberty quote because I couldn't remember. Hearing the answer was no help either. Obviously, public education didn't benefit me.

• 8:00 p.m. – We have eaten. The kitchen is clean. The Kid is on the phone with her admirers. She started out on the couch outside the kitchen. From there, she went to her room. She is loud. Every time she passes me, she yells my name. Tomorrow I'm going to count how often she does this. 

• 10:00 p.m. – Holy Moly, but I am ready for bed. Exhausted! The Kid is still on the phone. I suggest homework. "Cara!" she shouts. I tell her to shower. She gets ready for bed but doesn't shower, telling me she will in the morning. The Kid is very good at shutting me down with answers to my demands or questions. I have no recourse. I see now why her mother first considered a double nanny team. A lot of time is spent in the bathroom on a facial mask. She can't go to bed until it is dry.

• 11:00 p.m. – I asserted my authority and used my big girl voice. I'm over the "in ten minutes" response. The Kid recognizes my thinning patience and hangs up the phone. Who are these parents letting these kids stay up this late? My children had to leave their phones in the kitchen at night. Of course, that was the age of flip phones without the Internet. Before I get too caught up in patting myself on the back for my exceptional parenting, I picture my two girls. Both are now chained to their phones. I remove my hand from my back just as The Kid runs into my room and jumps on my bed! It makes a horrible creaking/cracking noise, causing me to yell. She sheepishly runs out of the room, but I'm recording the incident in case the bed falls apart. My excessive weight will not be blamed!

• 11:15 p.m. – I am in bed. The Kid is doing her nightly run up and down the stairs. I'm sure she is up to no good, but I'm exhausted. I hate that Santa can not be used to tame her. Instead, I yell her name. She responds with my name. Ugh. I take a deep breath and count to ten. The Kid senses she needs to stop, disappears into her room, and closes the door. I am asleep in minutes (I know this because she tells me in the morning, making sure I understand that I SNORE.)

Day 2 - Nanny Cara on the job

 Tuesday, December 6th –

• 8:00 a.m. – I am not sure why I am awake and up when The Kid is staying home from school. Ugh. I flutter about in the kitchen. I make coffee. My friend calls me. I speak softly so as not to awaken Sleeping Beauty.

• 10:00 a.m. – I've gone up to check on The Kid multiple times to make sure she is breathing. She is, buried beneath her covers and snoring. On the last trip up the stairs (which I'm counting as cardio), I left the door open. It is past the time for her to take her antibiotic, which stresses me, although her mother has assured me that as long as it gets into her body twice a day, The Kid is good. Having several friends married to doctors, I am used to nonsense like this. But my mother (who everyone assumed was a doctor due to her superior medical knowledge – and I mean that seriously) is rolling over in her grave. Oh, wait. She was cremated and is on my china cabinet. Okay, well, her voice is in my head. 

• 11:00 a.m. – Sicko Kid is downstairs and medicated. She repeats my name constantly. I don't think I've heard my name this much ever. She eats yogurt and doesn't want me to cook anything. She is not dying today.

• 1:30 p.m. - The amount of tissue usage has gone down. As with my sick kids, I've given her a plastic bag to dispose of her Kleenex. Being ill and weak, most of these do not make it into the bag. I have washed my hands 10,468 times today after picking up her used tissues 10,468 times.

• 2:00 p.m. - I am forced to watch the World Cup game between Portugal and Switzerland. I cheer for Switzerland just to annoy her. I am losing. We both are on electronics as we watch – her on her phone and me on my laptop working— but the game is too good. We are now invested. I am learning more about soccer than I ever knew before. She has planned our weekend watching schedule.

• 4:00 p.m. – The Kid has shed her illness. It's a miracle. Her voice is loud as she talks on the phone with her legions of admirers who have lived without her far too long. She roams from place to place. Currently, she is in the kitchen cooking. Darkness is settling. I am cold.

• 6:00 p.m. – I offer to make dinner. The Kid is too busy with her admirers, plus she ate not two hours ago. I make some eggs and eat while she talks on the phone. I suggest that she might want to study for the tests she missed while sick and will have to take tomorrow. "Cara!" she shouts.

• 10:00 p.m. – The Kid is showered and packed for school tomorrow. I am in awe of her self-sufficiency. My kids didn't have this at 13. Well, maybe they did. It's been too long. They certainly wouldn't have cooked for themselves or gotten ready for school the night before. Okay, maybe my youngest would've done this. Seriously, it's been too long. The Kid ate leftover pizza, and I cleaned up her mess. That's one thing she seems incapable of doing. I'm unsure why not, since her mother is a neat freak.

• 11:00 p.m. – The kid is still not in bed. She is printing things. This is a pet peeve of her mother's, a discussion we had before she left. then, I rolled my eyes. I'm well experienced in this silliness. My husband always bitched about printing things. What's the point of a printer if not for printing? The ink cost! That's the response I always got from him and that's Steph's response. I rolled my eyes again. The Kid was thrilled I took her side. I regret that now as she runs up and down the stairs, thump thump, thump, printing picture after picture. She is taking advantage of her mother being gone to waste ink. I tell her to get her ass into bed. After I yell, she claims she is printing one last picture--of Joe Burrow, the Cincinnati Bengals quarterback. WHAT? Does she know me? Does she live in PA? Joe Burrow and the Bengals are the enemy! Also, he is too cocky for my liking. I tell her if I find it, I shall destroy it.  "Cara!" she shouts. I don't think she shouts this regarding my language. It seems to be an automatic response to any words that come out of my mouth

• 11:15 p.m. – The Kid is in her room with the door closed. All is quiet.

Day 3 BNC and Day 1 of Nanny Cara

Steph received the news that her traveling companion was unwell and likely had COVID, even though she'd tested negative about 6,542 times first thing this morning. 

The travel companion alerted the cruise line that she would not be traveling. I put on a brave face and said positive things to Steph, although had our roles been reversed, I would've been in a massive panic. Steph handled it like a champ, despite not liking plane rides and having now to drive herself several hours to the Philadelphia airport. She found a friend in the Philadelphia area to leave her car with, and the friend agreed to drop her off and pick her up at the airport.  

We spent the rest of the day chatting, staying warm, listening to The Kid whine, and throwing odds and ends into the suitcase. Steph set off at 3:00 pm, blowing air kisses so as not to get near strep, and Nanny Cara immediately went on duty and started a journal.

Monday, December 5th –

• 3 p.m. The traveler has left. The Kid is dying from strep throat. I know this because she announces it every hour. She is lopped on the couch under king-sized blankets, every so often shouting my name. There are 6, 728 used tissues all around her.

• 4:30 p.m. – For the past hour, The Kid has mentioned dinner. It is now dark. She runs through a list of food places, including pizza, Greek, and Indian food. I tell her I don't care. She insists I choose. I say Greek. She says no. I tell her what Indian food I like. She says no. We go with pizza. The Kid orders it. 

• 6:00 p.m. – We have consumed dinner. I ate a salad. The Kid wrinkled her nose when I suggested she eat some lettuce. I mention the importance of roughage and pooping. She asked me to never mention that again.

• 7:30 p.m. – I am ready for bed. What the heck is this darkness at 4:30? I don't remember it getting this dark when I lived in Indiana. I'm chalking "doesn't get dark in the winter until 6:15" as another benefit of living in the Sunshine State.

• 10:00 p.m. – The Kid has announced she is going to bed. I try not to faint. Lord, knows what she'd do to me if I passed out.

• 10:30 p.m. – The kid is showered, medicated, and in bed. I think she may actually go to sleep. I finish cleaning up behind her and go upstairs to bed too. Who am I?

Day 1 & 2 BND (before nanny duties)

Prior to my PA arrival, I learned "get a Christmas tree" was on the To-Do List before Steph left for Europe. Since my November NaNoWriMo project was a Christmas novel, and since I'd spent many research hours on types of Christmas trees and tree farms, I insisted we could not buy any old pre-cut tree off some grocery lot.

Me: "We must go to a farm and cut our own."

Steph: "Really?"

The Kid: "Awesome!"

Festive Christmas music played in my head throughout the entire flight. What could be better than cooler weather, holiday time in the north, and reliving my childhood while gaining necessary novel information?

Saturday dawned. Outside, the temperatures were in the upper 50's, and the skies were pouring rain. We opted to whittle down the To-Do List and wait for the weather to clear before heading to the tree farm. At every dry spell as soon as we mentioned it was Christmas tree time, the skies opened up, dumping wetness. We shelved the tree job. Instead, we built The Kid's new desk, brought down the holiday decorations from the attic, and attended the town's tree lighting ceremony. 

Sunday dawned. The skies were clear. The sun shone brightly. The Kid announced she didn't feel well. 

The Kid: "No, seriously. I'm dying. My throat is killing me."

We left her at home and went to get a Christmas tree. Steph is very adamant about clearing her To-Do Lists.

Pennsylvanians must begin their holiday decorating early. There were many stumps and very few good-sized trees. I pictured a nine-footer. Steph immediately chopped off three feet. I argued, but not forcefully, because not only did she have The Kid's whining about her sickness, but Steph's traveling companion's kid had tested positive for COVID. Besides, this was her tree, not mine.

We found a tree right away. Based on my novel scene, I made some noises about not going with the first tree.

Steph: "One year, the four of us found the perfect tree here, and I said the same thing. I made us keep looking. After searching, we agreed the first tree was it, and when we came back to get it, someone else was cutting it down."

That story didn't faze me, and I continued strolling amongst the trees. Clearing one field, we looked across at the other field. 

Steph: "Should we hike over there?"

Me: "I feel we should. I need to experience this more, and those trees look taller."

We hiked miles to the other field (exaggeration), where we discovered the tall trees were an illusion, and we returned to the original tree we had first found. I did the honors of cutting it down. Steph hauled it most of the way back until I realized I needed to be able to describe that part of things, and I picked up the other end.

The tree was shaken, measured, drilled, and bailed at the entrance precisely as I had researched it. In my Christmas tree hunting experience, something I did every year with my dad, we didn't drill. I hadn't a clue what that meant and had researched it, which I explained to the tree guy, who couldn't have cared less. His female counterpart told me drilling, and using that type of stand was much easier than trying to get the tree perfect in one of those sub-par stands. 

I told her drilling wasn't a thing in Florida. Nor had I ever seen those stands. That information interested both of them.

We hauled the tree to the car, got it safely packed into the back and headed home. Steph began worrying about The Kid and her sore throat. I suggested she do what she did when The Kid injured her finger and send her to the neighbor doctor across the street. She agreed that was a good idea and set that into motion.

The Kid whined she was in bed, but she put on her shoes and went over to be poked and prodded. The strep test came back positive. We picked up the antibiotic.

At home, we steered clear of The Kid. I made a cider recipe I'd found online while we decorated the tree and listened to Christmas music. I added extra rum to the recipe to ward off strep and drank several cups.

By 8:30 pm, we thought it was midnight, and all of us were ready for bed.

Nanny Cara takes PA

Several months ago, I agreed to be Nanny Cara in Pennsylvania while my friend Steph cruised down the Rhine. It was a Christmas Cruise, and in the waning weeks of summer, I didn't think about the implications of agreeing to spend ten days in PA in December. 

It gets dark there at 4:15 pm!

No kidding, dusk creeps in at 4:00 pm, and by 4:30 pm, the sky is black ink. Dark. Like midnight in Florida dark. I thought 8:30 was bedtime! I got accustomed to drinking hot tea while the sun disappeared as if being chased by a demon.

Large houses are cold!

I loved that aspect at night, snuggled under the awesome blanket on my bed. During the day, though, not so much. I realized you have to dress in layers. For this Florida gal, who purchased long-sleeved clothes before heading north, that meant a wool cardigan. When I was hot, it came off, and when I got cold, it went back on. I was forever stripping and then re-dressing. Chores ramped up the body heat, but sitting and writing lowered it.

Snow!

Before I went, I worried about driving in the snow. That wasn't a favorite of mine when I lived in Indiana, and now that I've been in Florida for over thirty years--yeah, I was not looking forward to doing that. Luckily, it snowed and sleeted once, but the temperature was over fifty. Other than a gray, slushy, wet day and having to use my windshield wipers, that was doable. 

Small-town mentality!

I insisted on getting there before the responsible parent left on her trip so she could fill me in on the deets. Having been to PA last April, I knew locking doors was unheard of, and kids ran the neighborhood unsupervised. 

During this trip, I learned an antibiotic administered twice a day, no matter the time, was fine, and kids running wild extended to downtown and sketchy towns with abbreviated initials. Although, that last one might have been the kid pulling one over on the nanny.

Before I arrived, we Face-Timed. This was where I learned The Kid was self-sufficient and had a huge entourage. 

Me: "I'll need to meet and interrogate your friends. I'll come with a list of questions."

The Kid: "Please, don't embarrass me."

Me: 

The week went well. I left a day before The Kid's mother returned. The kid was alive and in someone else's capable hands at the airport where I was dropped off. 

I also kept a journal. Follow along on Nanny Cara's and the Kid's adventures!

NaNoWriMo 2022

The month of November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to write 50,000 words in the month. This was my third year, and once again, I made it!

This was by far my best NaNo. Not only did I prep in October with classes and plotting, but I joined a local NaNo group at the library. I met some new friends and met a writer I've engaged with on social media. We knew we both lived in Florida, but we had no idea we were this close! 

I wrote every day. It was surprisingly easy, and now I wonder why I'm not churning out books! Okay, well, it was challenging. I started well, hit a slump, got past it, and hung in by my fingernails to finish with 50,252 words. 

The novel is my fourth, and while it isn't finished, I've made a decent start. It's a Christmas romance novel with a grumpy/sunshine trope. I've very excited about it. 

A bunch of things got pushed to the side in the month while I wrote, including this blog, but I'll take some time off to catch up. Maybe.