"Hi, Grayer!" I say, smiling down at the top of his blond head. He's wearing a white oxford button-down Polo shirt, untucked on one side, containing the evidence of a morning hard at work: finger paint, what looks like glue, and one lone macaroni. "How was school today?""Grayer, you remember Nanny? You two are going to have lunch at the playground!" his mother prompts him.
He slumps against her leg and glares at me. "Go away.""Honey, we can have snack together, but Mommy has an appointment. You two are going to have such a good time! Now hop in your stroller and Nanny will give you snack."As we approach the playground he and I both listen attentively to the long list of Grayer's Likes and Dislikes: "He loves the slide, but the monkey bars bore him. Don't let him pick anything up off the ground, he likes to do that. And please keep him away from the drinking fountain by the clock.""Urn, what should I do if he needs to use the bathroom? I mean where should he go?" I ask as we pass under the dusty wooden arches of the Sixty-sixth Street playground.
"Oh, anywhere."I'm just about to ask for a little clarification when her Cell Phone rings.
"Okay, Mommy's gotta go," she says, snapping her Startac closed. Her departure is like the suicide drills from gym class every time she gets just a few feet farther away, Grayer cries and she scurries back, admonishing, "Now, let's be a big boy." Only once Grayer is in complete hysterics does she look at her watch and with a "Now Mommy's going to be late" is gone.
We sit on the only empty bench in the shade, while he sniffles, and eat our sandwiches, which have some sort of vegetable spread in them and, I think, unbologna. As he raises his sleeve to wipe his nose I notice dangling from beneath his untucked shirttails, what appears to be a Business card pinned to his belt loop.
I reach out. "Grayer, what's with the ...""Hey!" He swats my hand away. "That's my card." It's dirty and bent but I think I can make out Mr. X's name in faded type.
"Whose card is that, Grayer?""You know." He pounds his forehead, exasperated by my ignorance. "My card, Jeez! Push me on the swings!"By the time we're done eating and I've given him a few pushes it's time for us to walk over to his play date. I wave as he runs into the apartment. "Okay, bye, Grayer! See you tomorrow!" He turns around, sticks his tongue out at me and runs off. "Okay, have fun!" I smile at the other nanny as if to say "Oh, that? That's just our tongue game!"Once I'm on the subway to school I pull out the blue folder, which has my pay envelope paper-clipped inside.
I'm thrilled to discover that despite only working two hours, she's paid me for the whole day.
"Caitlin? Hi, I'm Nanny," I recognize her from the Xes' photo session in the park.
She looks up from where she sits on the school steps, sensibly outfitted in an Izod shirt and jeans, a sweatshirt tied round her waist. She's holding Grayer's apple juice in her right hand with the straw already in it. I'm impressed.
Just as she stands to return my greeting, our charge and his classmates are released and the courtyard becomes instantly animated. Grayer comes streaking through the crowd toward Caitlin, but screeches to a halt when he sees me, his enthusiasm visibly draining out through his Keds.
"Grayer, Nanny'll be coming to the park with us this afternoon, won't that be fun?" I sense from her tone that she isn't quite convinced we're in for a laugh riot. "He's always a bit cranky when school lets out, but he gets over it fine once he's had his snack.""I'm sure."It is chaos around us as children are snacked and play dates are made. I'm impressed by the finesse with which Caitlin works Grayer from snack to stroller to good-byes. He maintains screaming conversation with three of his classmates while getting a sweater put on, a Baggie opened. Homework unpinned from his lapel, and a stroller strapped under him. She's like a puppeteer, keeping the play in motion. I debate taking notes.
We head toward the park as they chatter away. She propels him forward with ease, though he can't be a light load with his sand toys, school stuff, and backup supplies of snack.
"Grayer, who's your best friend at school?" I ask.
"Shut up, stupid head," he says, kicking out at my shins. I walk the remainder of the way well outside his field of stroller vision.
After lunch Caitlin takes me around to meet the other nannies in the playground, most of whom are Irish, Jamaican, or Filipino. They each give me a quick, cold appraisal and I get the sense I won't be making a lot of friends here.
"So what do you do during the week?" she asks suspiciously.
"I'm a senior at NYU," I say.
"I couldn't figure out how she found someone who only wanted to work weekends." Weekends what?
She reties her ponytail while she continues. "I'd do it, but I wait tables on the weekends and, really, one needs a bit of a break by Friday. I thought they had a girl who worked weekends in the country, but I guess she didn't work out. Are you planning on driving out with them to Connecticut on Friday nights or taking the train?" She looks pointedly at me as I stare back at her in confusion.
Then it is suddenly clear to both of us why we aren't meant to discuss the "transition." I'm not the pinch hitter, I'm the replacement. A sadness flickers over her features.
I reach to change the subject. "So, what's with the card?"She swallows hard. "He carries it everywhere. He'll be wanting it pinned to his trousers and in his pajamas. It drives the Mrs. crazy, but he refuses to so much as put on his underpants without it." She blinks a few times and then turns away.
We make it full circle back to the sandbox where another family, who I assume from their matching shell suits and overwhelming zest for life are tourists, is playing.
"He's so cute. Is he your only child?" the mother asks in a flat Midwestern accent. I'm twenty-one. He's four.
"No, I'm his...""I told you to get out of here, you bad woman!" Grayer hurls his stroller at me, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Blood rushes to my face as I retort with false confidence, "You ... silly!" The tourist clan focus intently on a group sand castle project.
Caitlin rights the stroller as if his throwing it were part of a fabulous game we're playing. "Well, looks to me like somebody has a bit of energy and wants me to catch him!" She chases him all over the playground, laughing deeply. He slides down the slide and she catches him. He hides behind the monkey bars and she catches him. There is a lot of catching overall. I start to chase her as she chases him, but give up when he looks pleadingly into my eyes, moaning "Stop." I walk to a bench. As I watch them play I have to hand it to her. She has perfected the magic act that is child care, creating the illusion of an effortless relationship; she could be his mother. |