Upstairs Downstairs

I had the most astounding day two days ago. I'm still reeling a bit, to be honest. See? This is what happens when you make JoBiv leave her cozy apartment and talk with Other People. Who knows if I'll recover...

I put up on ad on cragislist to whore my childcare skills to those in need and I got two replies. The first mom, J, has a nearly-six-yr-old girl with Cerebral Palsy who needs help getting off the school bus and into the house on Thursdays. The second mom, M, has a three-month-old baby girl who needs care 3.5 days a week.

Simple. I can combine them and make me some money.

Both moms contacted me to set up meetings, which I think of as interviews. Yesterday, on the coldest day EVOR, I took my little notepad of directions and headed out into hell to meet some families.

First stop: J's apartment.

On Cypress Street, in a section of Brookline where houses are embarassingly close to the road and embarassingly un-vinyled, I find the pink house with five steep and narrow steps leading to a battered front door. I ring what I assume to be a doorbell and eventually a young woman with hair hastily pulled half-up comes rushing to the door with apologies for making me wait a bit in the cold. She lets me in, introduces herself, then to the boyfriend and the brother, and leads me to the second room in the house, Sierra's room. The lavender walls have Dora The Explorer decals on them, and a confusing set of bunk beds, a large tv, and two dressers dominate the room and further dwarf the tiniest 5 yr old I have ever seen.

"Sierra, our new friend Jo is here!"

The little girl is wedged into a corner of her room with a big Trader Joe's bag by her side. She sits on her legs with her feet pointing behind her; tightly curled, tiny feet... I think, "Does she walk? How am I going to do this?"

She turns to see the stranger in the doorway, and I see this tiny, fragile-looking elfin face, long eyelashes poking out for emphasis of cuteness. She tells me something I can't understand - clear speech problems - and Mom eventually translates.

"She's cleaning the bunny's poops."

Deelightful.

Actually, she is delightful. I spend an hour with J and Sierra, learning all of the rules of Sierra's life. She is not allowed to sit "in a double-u" and you have to remind her "to use leftie" and she needs "stretch-time"... all of these reminders come bolting out of J's mouth every five minutes, and Sierra obeys, shifting and pulling her body with all her effort to sit cross-legged, holding a piece of paper in place with the impossibly curled "leftie" while she uses the dexterity of rightie to draw a picture. Occasionally, J pulls Sierra to sit between her legs, pushes the little girls legs out straight, pressing on the knees, flexing her feet, flexing her fingers.

Meanwhile, boyfriend Chris and brother Dan play darts - the sharp metal kind - out in the hall. Despite Dan's cuteness (he was playing guitar when I first came in) I wonder at the fact that these two are drinking Heinies at 4:30 on a Monday night while J attempts to pull dinner, Christmas, and Sierra together.

Through the course of the meeting, which I discover is a relieved hand-off rather than an interview, I find out that this bedroom used to be a living room and Sierra used to sleep with Mom, and that they need a new roommate because this woman is moving out - do I know anybody? - and Chris prefers that Sierra doesn't play in his and J's room, he likes his privacy...

I ask for a tour of the house. There's a section of hallway with photos taped in a kind of gallery, a kitchen with milkcrates used for storage and two large (I can't help but think of drinking games) tables. The roommate's room in the back of the house is crammed full of crap. She's moving in January and it looks pretty crazy.

Before I leave, Sierra wants to show me how she can write her name. She's nearly six, after all. She uses a piece of orange construction paper and a slightly darker crayon, pressing the paper in place with leftie and squiggling a large, happy S. She gets the long line for her I down and then gets distracted by her bunny, Dusty. I ask her, "where does the dot go?"

"On-a-top-a."

She finishes her name with some elegant "cursive" and then asks me to write my name. I say, "Mine's easy, it's just two letters. J..."

She lights up, "Like Mommy!"

Smart girl...

As I'm wrapping my scarf around my neck, she says, "I like it." J picks her up and I tell her it's an Amazing Technicolor Dreamscarf, and the things on the end are all scarflettes. It's like having lots and lots of tiny scarves. She giggles and I ask her to pick her favorite. Very carefully, as though they're fragile, she picks through the fringe and finds one with two shades of blue. She finds a red one to match Mom's sweater. She runs her fingers through the fringe like it's long, luxurious hair. I resist the urge to hug her. I'm already in love.


Second Stop: Anna's

A girl needs to eat.


Third Stop: M's condo

On the other side of Brookline, nestled cozily amongst parks and formerly shady oaks, amber light pours out of the beveled windows of solid Victorian doors. I find the address I need, walk up three gorgeous flights of stairs, and come to a friendly welcome mat and another beautiful door.

M answers, dressed in her evening relaxing clothes - knits with drawstrings - and welcomes me to her home. The place is cozy but not quite moved into, with boxes in the hall and some bare walls. The walls are dressed in dark wood framework, some of it carved, and a huge brick fireplace gives the space even more grandeur, if possible. Ruining the effect, somewhat, toys, books and cloth diapers litter the floor. With a glance I notice that they are THE toys and books to have - LaMaze, DK, etc. This is only one room, the living room, and I can see a huge dining room and a split kitchen that allows for another table.

M offers me a seat on a comfy couch, and I'm introduced to her husband, S. He totters off to make tea after commenting on the cold, and M pulls out a notepad. A notepad, I tell you!

"So," she says, "I've read over your resume," which I had sent more for effect than any serious desire to have them check it over thoroughly, "and see you've had a summer of nannying experience. Tell me what that was like."

As I talk about Baby Nora and jLiz, she takes notes, nods, and suddenly I remember that she's a family physician.

Soon she's asking me what I think my strengths and weaknesses are, where my career in childcare is headed, what do I get from the experience of caring for children... after 15 minutes of interrogation, S comes out with the tea and complains that we cannot possibly have tea at this table with the tablecloth looking as it does.

No shit, they change the tablecloth.

Sitting at the table we catch up S on my answers thus far, and he adds a comment here and there. I have the distinct feeling they've put others through a similar ringer. They ask me about where I'm from and my family, and I ask them the same questions, polite and trying to be interested. Suddenly we hear a quacking noise from a distant room. M got up to retrieve the baby, while S and I talked about art and printmaking and a couple of the beautiful pieces in the home.

The quacking came closer, and cuddled in M's arms was a tiny being in a pink terry pajama suit. Lil Pea rubbed her eyes and continued to pretend to be very upset without convincing any of us.

At this point, I knew it would be a bad idea to hold the baby. It was clearly her Hour of Evil, even though I was assured she's a very good baby. I knew that she would not like the smell or feel of my strangeness, and sure enough, once in my arms she worked up to a code yellow cry.

After switching the baby between Mom and Dad for a while and making some more pleasant small talk, I put on my coat and wrapped up, wishing the family a happy new year and saying I hoped to hear from them soon...


Fourth Stop: Home

There is a scheduling conflict between the two jobs. Lil Pea needs care 3 or 4 days a week, including Thursdays. That gig, of course, offers a lot more money. During the interview I found myself saying that I wasn't available Thursdays, and I thought to myself, "You jackass... you are JOBLESS. Make yourself available..."

But I can't. I think of Sierra gleefully crawling after her bunny and pulling on my scarflettes, and I'm already melted.

Well, I have one job. We'll just see about M and S and their sweet baby girl.