Day 7 of Nanny Cara on the job

 Sunday, December 11th

• 8:30 a.m. – I am up before the alarm. The Kid is not. Her alarm woke me! I get up and see it is snowing. That's exciting! I take pictures and hope it isn't cold enough to stick.

• 8:45 a.m. – The Kid shouts my name to let me know it is snowing.

• 9:10 a.m. – We head off for church. The Kid is going to youth group and is worried about me because her aunt, uncle, and Steph's friends are always late. 

• 9:30 a.m. - Several months ago, The Kid and I discussed my atheist mother and my church-going experiences. She worries about leaving me alone like I might be struck down. I assure her I can fend for myself, thank her for her concern, and send her off. I sit down. There are only 5 people in the sanctuary. What the what??? The pastor says it might be due to the weather. Hmm…it is snowing and sleeting but barely. If I can get here, the rest of this town needs to be here!

• 9:40 a.m. - Steph's friends arrive and sit behind me, tapping me on the shoulder. 

• 10:30 a.m. – It was a lovely service, but I kept thinking of Kip during the whole thing. Religion played a big part in his life. I kept replaying conversations, reliving his funeral, and remembering his "I'm blessed" response to anyone asking him how he was. Odd really. I didn't know Kip well, but sometimes I feel like I did. Maybe through his book? His sister and her husband join us. I like them. She is sweet. I find him intriguing. Like Steph's friends, I think these two are mystified about me. Marriage, children, and life intervened, and communication between Steph and me was limited. We emailed. I kept in touch with her life via her parents. I met Kip when they came to Florida once. We visited them once. But not until my visit with her sister and mother did we fall back into a more hey-let's-seriously-keep-in-touch friendship. I'm sure these people had never heard of me, and now I'm suddenly popping up, giving a funeral speech about knowing Steph for 54 years and nannying her daughter. I find it kind of funny. It's what I've said for years, using the Girl Scout motto - Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver, and the other is gold. No matter how long or far apart, some friends can come together and delve straight where they left off without a hitch. If you don't have that, you don't get it. So, I'm conscious of this suspicion and tread lightly. Besides, The Kid loves all of us. There is plenty to go around.

• 11:00 a.m. – Good Lord! These people can talk! The Kid and I are starving, and I desperately need coffee! We manage to finagle them toward the door, and as she has done this entire time, The Kid directs me to the country club for brunch. I can tell you, my girls could not have gotten anyone around town at this age. Hell, my twenty-five-year-old can't get around town now without a GPS. Seriously. She has no idea of street names. I've decided The Kid is something special. And so is her mom, who raised her to be this self-sufficient. I'm sure Kip had some fingers in there too, but, let's be honest, it's the mothers who sacrifice it all. Thank goodness my girls are capable adults, or I'd be second-guessing myself about now. Maybe too, it's the small-town living. There is something to be said about that. I, too, ran amok at 13 in Indiana. Huh. How about that. 

• 12:30 p.m. – Brunch was lovely. I wasn't sure how the country club thing worked here, but back in my day of that "luxury" and working for the club, it was all done by membership. Since I'm not a member and Steph is no longer a member, I didn't offer to pay. I did thank them kindly. Maybe I could follow that up with a thank you in a Christmas card. I'm laughing hilariously right now after typing that last sentence. I still have a box of thank-you items for my SIL from my visit to her house this past July! And my blog readers know that I can't get birthday cards out on time. A shame, really. My mother taught me better than that. And one of these kind folk will take me to the airport tomorrow. I hope my sincere thank you holds some weight.

• 1:00 p.m. – I am watching football. The Kid is getting ready to go ice skating. I inquire as to whether she knows how. She "reminds" me she was a figure skater. I have no memory of ever knowing this information. See! If the family and friends knew this, suspicion would increase! The Kid demonstrates some moves, twirling around in her socks on the hardwood floors. I'm intrigued. She says she will send a video of her skating today.

• 4:00 p.m. – Ugh. The Steelers lost. Both quarterbacks went out with concussions. I stalked The Kid several times, now used to her running amok. She did send a video of her skating. But now the app shows her at her school again. What the heck? Who is taking them from place A to place B? The Kid went with Friend EF skating. His mother took them, and for some reason, I pictured her sitting there watching them. Jeez, am I that out of touch? Did I drop off my kids at 13? Well, maybe I would have for ice skating since the only rink in Florida is at the mall. I would've gone shopping! Or would I? I can't remember. But today is Sunday, and while this school is Catholic, I hardly believe The Kid and her friend are attending mass. 

• 4:55 p.m. – The Kid calls. Can I come and get them and take them downtown? Wanting to pretend I'm the authoritative figure, I ask for what. She says food. That sounds great because I am starving and need something more than the chocolate I keep consuming. This town would kill me if I lived here. I'm going to go cold turkey and outlaw chocolate when I get home. No. Wait. I'll do that in January. The holidays will have too much chocolate for me to do it now.

• 5:06 p.m. – Does this school ever close? I mean, it's Sunday! This is the day of the Lord! And the Lord says we rest on the 7th day. And this Catholic school has, once again, tons of cars in the parking lot. I think there is more going on inside that building than education! I have been here in some capacity every day this week! Could it be a cult thing? Drugs? Human trafficking? Does her mother know? I shelve the issue since The Kid's plan is to return to public school next school year, and she seems to be okay.

• 5:07 p.m. - The Kid exits the building and comes to the car with her entourage. There are three of them. Two I recognize, but the other I don't. He is tiny, and I decide he is a sibling of one of the others. I wonder if his mother knows he is with these older kids and in some strange lady's car. Well, the car might not be strange, but I am! Ha! If they only knew! 

• 5:10 p.m. - Dear god, for the first time, these kids are behaving like I remember 13-year-olds acting. Objects fly through the air. The giggling is loud. There is so much jumping and wiggling in the backseat the car shakes. I told them to buckle before I put the car in gear, but did they? It was dark. I didn't check. Maybe I should've Googled PA laws before I got here. Hmm...I'll add that to my Nanny resume. "Well acquainted with state laws." To distract them from misbehaving while I drive, I ask how they got from the skating rink to the school, where supposedly "basketball games" were being played. Yeah. Right. The Lord does not intend for basketball to be played on a Sunday unless it is part of the NCAA or NBA. Definitely, that school is doing unlawful mind-bending things. Probably teaching them to run amok! And guess what? Friend AB's father carted them to the school from the rink. I suspect he might play a leadership role in this cult school. Because did he ask where she would go from here? Tell her he would pick her up? Does he know she is about to run amok downtown? I don't ask this. I just keep driving.

• 5:25 p.m. - The restaurant of choice, which is these 13-year-olds hangout, is Chipotle. I park. They are horrified I am going in. I remind them I have yet to eat. They take off running so as not to be seen with me. Ha! The Kid should know me by now! When I enter, they are huddled in a corner, side-eyeing me. I immediately wave crazily, and then I go over and shout, "Oh, My God! I haven't seen you guys in forever. How are you? What brings you here?" The Kid gives me a look and says, "Cara!" I laugh and leave them, but now The Kid realizes I can pay for her food, and she won't have to use whatever her mother left her for running amok. She is now cool with hanging with me. I get roped into buying Friend AB's food. Interesting. Does her father ask how she ate? Does he give her money? I'm sorry I won't be here long enough to sit down with this father. He really could use Nanny Cara's advice. Hey! I could finagle a job out of this. Then again, I live in Florida. I'll tell Steph to give him my name if he needs something temporary. I learn that Tiny Friend is the same age as the others. Oops. Glad I didn't say anything in the car. The Kid is like 6 feet and towers over her friends, so that's my excuse for thinking otherwise.

• 5:30 p.m. – I am back at the house, leaving the children at Chipotle. I did ask what their plan was after eating. They do have school tomorrow, and that seems like something Nanny-like I should be on top of. As usual, The Kid responds they will eat and then be home. No later than 6:30. Boom. She shuts me down. I mean, what do I say to that? It's an hour. I nod, walk out the door, and laugh as my girls' voices shout at me in my head. I hope to hell Steph allows all of this nonsense. Otherwise, I'll feel stupid, but that's the fun of having a friend take care of you. I remember my mother's friend taking care of my brother and me. She let us have Twinkies and Ding Dongs, two things my mother would not have approved. It's all I remember of that time. The Kid will remember how I let her run amok. My job is complete! I eat.

• 6:15 p.m. – The Kid has returned. Early. Guess why? Yep, Friend AB's father apparently sat outside our door and texted his kid that he was waiting only a few minutes. She would have to spend the night here if she didn't get here now. Oh, yeah, he and I definitely have to talk. What if she had called his bluff? I've let these kids run amok! How does he know I won't make her sleep outdoors? This guy is a piece of work! I wish The Kid had filled me in before she got home. I would've gone outside and confronted him. Friend EF and Tiny Friend come inside. They all disappear upstairs.

• 7:00 p.m. – The friends are gone. I remind The Kid her school crap is in the car and inquire again about homework. I'm not sure why I bother because she has NONE. She did it at school! I do not believe this for a minute, although I feel guilty not trusting her since she is so self-sufficient. But then I remember the lousy test score (I don't know what it was, but she told me it wasn't good) of the test she took upon her return from sickness. I stop feeling guilty. I can't check things. Back home, at my other nanny job, I checked this information via a school portal. I had to because those kids were big, fat liars. They are 20 and 18 now, and the one just texted me her first acceptance into college, so I can pat myself on the back for checking that portal. Whew. Okay, that trip down memory lane assures that The Kid will graduate. She puts on her headphones, relaxes on the couch, and does stuff. I go back to football.

• 10:00 p.m. – I got tired of football, showered, and am now packing some stuff. The Kid has said her goodnight and is safely behind her closed door. Tomorrow night I will be in my own bed. That's hard to believe. This week flew by!

Day 6 of Nanny Cara on the job

 Saturday, December 10th

• 9:00 a.m. – The Kid is up and downstairs by the television when I slink down the stairs. She tells me the game starts at ten and not nine o'clock. I whine about this and then discover the coffee pot won't turn on. What the hell? We used it yesterday with no issues. What happened? Did fairies appear in the night and break it? The Kid grouses because she wants hot chocolate. I bitch because I want to stay in my pajamas longer. I suck it up, dress, and head to Starbucks. The Kid says she will cook our breakfast. I'm telling you, if she could clean up after herself, she would be in hot demand! 

• 9:30 a.m. – Why is no one preparing for the World Cup at home? Jeez, everyone is out and about! There is no parking near Starbucks, so I have to walk miles. That's an exaggeration, but I did park in the Market parking lot and hike. Starbucks is not busy, and I'm annoyed I must wait for my online order. I eventually sit down at a table to wait, drumming my fingers. I did instruct The Kid not to burn down the house when I left, but that doesn't mean she won't. They have a gas stovetop. I know nothing about gas except it is dangerous and causes fires. I worry I'll accidentally catch my sleeve in the flame every time I use it. I have a thing about fire. I'm a water sign. We don't mix. If I didn't need the coffee so much or had to hear The Kid whine about not getting her hot chocolate, I'd hightail it home immediately to make sure the house is still standing.

• 10:00 a.m. – We are in front of the tv with breakfast bowls cooked by The Kid. God knows what mess she has left. I ignored it while I put together my bowl. My coffee is gone. I sucked it down in two minutes and am contemplating returning to Starbucks. Instead, I Google the mysteriously broken coffee pot. Interesting. There are a lot of message boards about this brand and its inept circuit board. My husband would've kept the box this pot came in on the off chance he'd have to take it back. Knowing Steph, that box is long recycled, so I give up on taking it back and getting another one. Visions of no coffee every morning have me thinking about calling customer service and bitching. The Kid tells me to pay attention to the game. I make myself some tea instead.

• 1:00 p.m. – Portugal lost. The Kid is in despair. 

• 1:10 p.m. - We talked to Steph, which uplifted The Kid some. Then her day of ice skating got pushed to tomorrow. I hope a day of watching soccer will be enough for her.

• 1:15 p.m. - The Kid asks me if she can go to a hockey game with Friend CD. Her mom will take them. I look at her as if she's turned green and sprung antennas. She has made me into a soccer fan by forcing me to watch every World Cup game, and she wants to leave and go to a hockey game??? She shrugs and says she'll watch the action on her phone. I am disappointed. I was excited to spend the day with her watching soccer. I sigh.

• 3:45 p.m. – The Kid calls to tell me she is watching a basketball game at school. Seriously? I can't keep up with these kids' rotations. I have no idea how she got from a hockey game to her school. I know where the school is located, and The Kid showed me where the hockey arena was, so??? No way they hoofed it. If I had Friend AB's father's number, I would call and discuss this with him. The Kid keeps shouting my name as I say all this to her. She wants me to drive her to E town, like I know what that is, to watch the Christmas parade. I remind her I am watching the World Cup. She promises to give me updates via her phone. Uh? I tell her I will be at the school when I finish eating my snack.

• 3:50 p.m. - I looked up the Christmas parade online just in case these 13-year-olds are trying to pull a fast one. I'm not sure what would entice them in E Town, but I am a responsible Nanny. There is a parade from 4-6. Now, would this be something her mother would allow? I have no idea. The Kid texts and asks if I can bring her Converse sneakers and a jacket. Dear god, did I let her leave the house without a coat?? I find the shoes, but not the jacket. I text her back. She has no idea where it could be. I search high and low, getting in lots of cardio up and down the stairs. Finally, I head out and check her locker (each member has a locker for stuff in the mud room) on the off chance she put it away. I laugh at my joke, but it turns out it is on me because the damn jacket is in the locker. At least, I think it is hers. It could be her mother's. I take it with me anyway and head to the school. 

• 4:00 p.m. – As I pull into the school parking lot, I wonder about the odd beeping noise on the radio. The parking lot has a lot of cars in it. Some dad is out with his kid on the playground. He looks at me strangely, and I suddenly wonder if that noise is me. I turn down the radio and still hear the beeping. I pull into a spot, shut off the radio, and desperately search for the root cause. The beeping is loud and my head begins throbbing. It sounds like an alarm. I roll down the window. Holy crap, is that my car alarm? The Kid and Friend CD arrive at the car. Both are laughing! "Cara!" Somehow I hit the panic on the keys in my pocket. We get a big kick out of this hilarity and spend a few minutes laughing and yucking it up. I like this wild, carefree side of me. We head out.

• 4:15 p.m. – Tingles about allowing these two to attend this parade are prickling my skin the further I get to E town. I make Friend CD call her mom as the pickup person, unsure of me finding my way back to get them. Mom doesn't answer. Friend CD tries her father, who also ignores her call. What is the deal with these parents? These kids are 13 and running amok! Ha Ha. I can't stop quoting Father of Friend AB. I wonder if these parents are having a midafternoon romp in the hay. That's the romance writer in me. I mean, alone on a Saturday without their kid? Hello! I don't say this aloud because reality hits. Yeah, married folks? That isn't happening.

• 4:23 p.m. - Friend CD's mom has called back. I knew the sex thing was a no-go. Mom is so loud I hear the entire conversation, which assures me all is well in letting these two run amok at a parade. Mom of Friend CD asked the same questions I asked. Who were they meeting? Some boy, the boyfriend of Friend EF, who I haven't met. Who was going? The Kid and Friend CD. Mom told her daughter to send a pin so she could know their location to pick them up. Okay, so since I was given no instruction on these parents, I'm assuming this one is good. I mean, wouldn't Steph have mentioned if she wasn't?

• 4:35 p.m. - I have dropped the girls in some strange sketchy E town alley. The streets were blocked off. Hello! Parade. I said this would be the case, but the girls poo-pooed me until the boy called to tell them just that. Sigh. The police directed me down an alley, and the girls said this was good, and out they hopped, thanking me. Good lord! My kids' shouts were in my head all the way home, and I got apprehensive about what I'd done. This whole experience could be shaving off several years, and I don't even know it! I need a cocktail. No! I should wait to do that until The Kid is back safely. I channel her mother's nonchalance-ness in locking doors and allowing her kid to run amok. Funny how that wouldn't have worked with my own kids. I would have said no immediately and locked them in their rooms. Ha! That last part is an exaggeration. They would have gone to their rooms in disgruntled irritation, muttering how I never let them do anything fun.

• 6:30 p.m. – The Kid is back and appears healthy. Whew. I'm exhausted. The parade was "good." Somewhere food was consumed. She takes her position on the couch, and I go back to watching that same program on Amazon.

• 12:00 p.m. – The Kid is on her phone in the basement, headphones covering her ears. I got bored with television, took a shower, and climbed into bed at 10:30 to read. At about 11:15, I spilled water while trying to drink from my water bottle. It went all over the bed and me. I had to get up, strip the bed, and dry the sheets and my pajamas. I sat by the Christmas tree and read while the stuff dried. Downstairs, The Kid is loud, but I pay no attention. At some point, I notice she has lowered her voice, and my mother-spidey-senses kick in. I tiptoe into the laundry room as she races up the stairs. "Cara!" she shouts at finding me. Now I know she doesn't want me listening to her conversation. Darn it! I should've eavesdropped for entertainment or for good blackmailing material! But that meant I would've had to creep down the stairs for the intel, and again, I just don't care. But I play along as if I'm ignorant and tell her my water story because maybe this will be fun when she returns downstairs. She falls for my act but ends her conversation and heads to bed. Boo. Whatever. I'm tired. Tomorrow we have church and brunch with Steph's friends. 

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?