So a few days ago I sort of dropped a few lines about our nanny. Just kinda threw ‘em in there like it was nothin’.
That night at around 3am the thought came into my mind that perhaps that could have sounded a bit pretentious – you know, to just drop in casual conversation how rad my nanny is. Very Desperate Housewives. Right? (I haven’t actually seen that show, but I THINK it’s about rich suburban white people, and, presumably, their nannies.)
Now, since this thought came to me at 3am I decided not to act upon it immediately. Because some pretty weird shit comes into my mind at 3am, and seems to make a whole lotta sense at that particular juncture. You know like I’ll decide one of my kids is really truly for REALS suffering due to my absences and if I don’t do something RIGHT NOW he or she may actually not make it. And she or he will end up a crackhead and all he or she will say is “well, you shoulda seen my terrible mother.”
Which is ridiculous, because everybody knows I’m a freaking fantastic mother.
So clearly 3am thoughts are not to be trusted.
This one, however, stuck with me. And came at 3pm and then again about 10 minutes ago. Therefore, I write this: we are not rich. We only have a nanny because it would have cost MORE to put them in day care. More, people. MORE.
And my husband works three (yep, count ‘em, three) jobs. And I have student loans. And I work as a consultant. In other words, there ain’t no trust fund up in here.
Now please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t have anything against rich people (WELL, I might, but mostly because I’m jealous) and I don’t even care if you thought for a minute I was storing millions in my sock drawer – what I don’t like is the idea of coming across as a pretentious woman of privilege who doesn’t recognize it and assumes everybody lives the way she does.
We live paycheck to freaking paycheck and my kids go to public school and I may or may not fantasize about not living like this some day. And I know we’re DAMN LUCKY to have what we have.
So there you have it.
I’m just keepin’ it real.
We don’t have much. Our mortgage is less than most people’s rent (read: um, modest accommodations?). But we have jobs and therefore, I don’t complain. I actually never complain about our finances (I mean DUH of course I complain to my husband and in my head) but I don’t complain to others. Because we have jobs. And that’s a lot.
So anyway, forgive me if I “name dropped” the nanny.
I’m still the broke ass I’ve always been, just with a freaking incredible nanny, who kisses my kids and hugs me and makes homemade tortillas and fits in this house like a third parent. Only she’s much better at this than I am. She’s amazing. And if I believed in blessings I’d say we are “blessed.”
But I don’t say shit like that.
So instead I’ll just say the universe gave us an incredible gift when we crossed paths with this woman.
Anyway I gotta go. I’m meeting my massage therapist in my steam room in five minutes and my cook is yelling something about being pissed at the butler. Silly helpers.
Oh wait never mind. That yelling I hear is my oldest kid screaming about the youngest kid putting her hands in the toilet, and there’s pee in it.
Shouldn’t I have staff to handle that?