I forgot to ask one vital question on my nanny interview.
Lori Curley: She was so sweet on the phone, a slight Swedish accent.
"Ya," she replied.
"Ya, I have a driver's license."
"Ya, I drive manual transmission."
"Ya, I can drive your keeds on MondayWensdyFridy."
What I forgot to ask -- the reason I should have had at least one meeting -- was, "Emmy, can you fit in my car?"
Week One: I had no idea a woman with such a tiny voice could be so big. And no idea my car was so -- so inadequate. She was not overweight but tall, a good 6'5", and extremely easy going. With her head pressed up firmly against the roof of our Subaru Outback, she did not complain, but waved -- demurely, I might add. My kids in the back were not as well poised; they stared in disbelief. It was the same look they gave me after I buckled them into their first log flume in Ocean City. It said, "How can you do this to us?"
A better question, one my husband wanted answered, was "How can you do this to our hatchback?"
Week Two: Our car started to show the strain of Emmy's dedication and hard work. The leather seams began to part, the seat belt no longer recoiled, but hung like a post-prom streamer, and the whole car bounced at stop signs. We had to find a way to get rid of Emmy.
My son suggested we let loose some snakes, my daughter recommended we move. My husband recommended the direct approach, i.e., I call her and tell her she is no longer needed. But the truth was, we did need her, we just didn't need so much of her. Finally, we came to a decision. We took the most mature, rational path ... but we still don't know what it is.
Help us out -- how can we get rid of Emmy? What is the most peaceful, rational path?
|Lori Curley, champion mother of two middle-school teenagers, resides in South Orange, NJ. She holds a Masters in Education and has been teaching writing at the college level for 7 years. But can she find a job as a high school English teacher? Or will she pull her hair out first?|