Life has got so busy recently with the husband’s work getting more hectic and my writing (not this) getting more commissions, juggling the children is getting harder. The other night when one of them came up to ask what we were having for supper (it was half past eight) I decided we needed an extra pair of hands.
I have watched Mary Poppins and Nanny Mcphee, who doesn’t love Maria in the sound of music? The woman makes dresses out of curtains for goodness sake. I’ve seen the difference these people have made to the families. Yes they are fictional I grant you, but I have friends who have nannies and they all swear by them. Also Maria was based on a real woman! Long as she doesn’t marry the husband and trek over Parliament Hill with the kids and a goat I will be fine.
So it was decided a nanny was the way to go. The fly in the ointment is London appears to have a nanny shortage, or maybe they decided that a “Captain with 7 children” (I know we have more, humor me here) wasn’t the way forward.
Ready to give up someone suggested we look into a manny. Mrs Doubtfire immediately popped into my head, the husband dressed in tweed with a prosthetic face, there’s an image! Got me thinking though, as the kids love their dad slightly more than me (shocking, I know) having a male role model to look after them could be good.
Interview day arrived, I have to say interviewing people is not one of my favorite things to do, and obviously when your children are involved the pressure is on, the kids have to like the manny, the manny has to like the kids, we have to like the manny and the manny needs to like us. That’s a lot of love required in the room before we even start checking references!
I am being totally honest here when (apart from Mrs Doubtfire) I had no manny preconceptions. All the ones we interviewed were perfectly pleasant, I liked Jurgen from Germany lots, he showed me pictures of his village (in Germany obviously) his parents, his dog and his girlfriend. Then he started crying….(more sobbing if I’m truthful!) Turns out his girlfriend dumped him, he came to England to start a new life. Looking at the pictures had made him realize he still loved her, missed his life back home too much and on reflection was going to book the next flight back to Munich to fight for Heidi. I was particularly proud of myself as:
A: I just passed him tissues, while listening and nodding sympathetically like it happens all the time.
B: He spoke to me in German, he couldn’t speak any English. This was not flagged up by the agency but, luckily I am fluent, bit rusty I grant you but I got the jist. The husband just sat there looking a tad awkward not understanding a word. Needless to say Jurgen was crossed of the list. He and Heidi did get back together though.
It was a long afternoon, I was begging to wonder if it was all worth it, trying to find someone to look after the children was taking up so much time we weren’t getting any work done anyway. Maybe this whole thing was a tad counter productive, if I just remember to feed the kids perhaps we could forget it.
We had one more to see, I would like to point out here that I am 44 have been married for 26 years and have a copious amount of children. My face is beyond hope, my tummy lost all muscle memory years ago, I like an elasticated waist on a trouser and my claim to fame is being able to do a star jump without the need of a tenna lady. I am that invisible age but happy. Not many people take my breath away but…………………
The husband was followed in by a six foot four Adonis! Think a cross between the bloke in The Pacifier and Arnie in Kindergarten cop. I had to sit down. It was either that or courtesy (which is a very annoying habit I have developed when I’m lost for words). He was Kevin from County Cork, life was getting better, I love an Irish accent. He definitely worked out, (in a good way not that he was so muscly he moved like a robot kind of way.) He was one of five (perfect) loved cooking (perfect) played all kinds of sport, but especially loved football (perfect), laughed at the husbands jokes ( you cant have everything) and the two year old loved him (perfect).
I would be the envy of everybody in Nw3, possibly the world. I could imagine having to gett an app just to book play dates, letting parents come and admire him at pick up. Honestly he was too good to be true, it was like having the diet coke man but eight million times better in your sitting room.
There lay the problem, nope it wasn’t that The Husband was worried Kevin was going to take me over a mountain (remember Maria)…….in fact he liked him as much as I did, turned out that Kev (he asked us to call him) has a very tight schedule,as an aspiring model he spent lots of time at photo shoots and in order to look like *that* a lot of hours in the gym. He wanted to work part time (again no mention of this from the agency) and was going to be a manny until his career took off, he was mostly interested in the room. He couldn’t do school drop off (gym) nor pick up (photo shoot) weekends were a bit tricky (oxygen facials and more gym) and while he was o.k to do the bedtime routine and cook supper it couldn’t affect his running schedule.
I was speechless on every level, talk about blinded by a muscle (Ohh err not that one)!!! Much as I loved Kev we decided perhaps he wasn’t the right manny for the job.To be fair he agreed too. I hear he has a modelling gig now so it was a good decision. He sent us a signed calendar!
After all that we decided maybe we would leave it for a bit. Kev was a very hard act to follow. Funny though, I caught The Husband using the 20 year old’s weights last night. Every cloud.