Okay, so I'm checking out the New York Times on the web and come across an article by Eric Konigsberg called "Let's Face It, This Isn't a Job for Supernanny." Needless to say, I was intrigued.
Check out the link:
There's something about nanny's. They are very cool. I guess they have to be to deal with various and sundry situations involving bubblegum, poison oak and Flintstone band aids. (Am I talking about nannies or Erma Bombeck?)
In my experience as a middle-class Rocky Mountain denizen, the only official "nanny" I'd ever heard of was Mary Poppins. She had a lovely British accent, a clean, stalwart Nanny uniform, and an amazing soprano that could reach high "C."
As a teen, I didn't enjoy babysitting. Not. One. Bit. But that didn't stop my parents from setting me up to babysit their friends kids so they could all go out. I dug in my heels and refused. And it wasn't about the money. I just didn't like babysitting. Period.
I suppose I could have pretended I was a nanny, like Julie Andrews. Sing to the kids about raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens. Give them spoonfuls of sugar and watch them bounce off the walls. Sew clothes for them out of draperies. No, I don't think so. The chaos would be my undoing. I'd be tempted to pop open my magic umbrella and escape into a Magritte painting.