You guys,
Every time a new nanny comes to the house for an interview I tell our 3-year-old we’re going to see “if she’s a good fit.”
What I really mean is, will she and my son survive each other?
I have not found a way to interview for this, which is why they come, they interview, they start, they rarely last.
Kyla was punctual, reliable, delightful to speak with, and fully present and engaged when she came over. The first month she only watched our daughter while George was at school. She played with Layla, read books, fed her lunch, and I never heard a peep. It was quiet, peaceful, and they seemed to enjoy each other’s company.
Then Kyla came over on the weekend when my son was home. I heard the whines turn into screams. I heard her tell George it was fine, he was fine. I heard him scream louder. By the time I came out of my office George was red-faced and stomping his feet and spitting on the floor.
We hired another girl. Lisa was conscientious, asked lots of questions about the kids and what they liked, and was always cleaning and asking if there was anything else she could do. But when George walked away from her, she followed him. When George said no, she asked another question. When George stumbled through something he wanted to say, she cut him off and finished it for him.
Kyla and Lisa were not a good fit.
Of course there were other nannies who left of their own accord.
One girl down the street was recommended by our neighbor. “She’s only a junior in high school but very good with the kids,” we were told. The first time Roxy came to our house Sam and I were smitten by her. She was so mature! So sweet!
When she came over to watch the kids they sprinted right up the stairs and played with her the entire four hours and I didnt hear a single whine or complaint. It was blissful. I didn’t know how she did it.
The second time she came over my son pushed back a little, tested his boundaries, but Roxy seemed unphased. Everything was fine.
I sent her a text with upcoming dates and she responded that her workload got to be too much at school and she wouldn’t be able to babysit.
Was that the truth?
It didn’t matter. She was gone.
Another girl came to the house. Another great interview. Another great first time at the house with the kids.
After she left I was thrilled. We finally found someone good! I texted her how great it was having her at the house and sent her some upcoming dates. Hours later she responded that she appreciated the opportunity, but she knew I wanted someone who was a good fit, and she was not.
I responded something like, “Oh, thank you so much for telling me, was it something specific that happened??”
Two question marks. A desperate mom.
She did not respond.
Through the swinging door of nannies we have had one constant. When Bella’s at the house I never have to step in. If George screams she listens, she tells him she understands, she does not meet his franticness with her own franticness. If she asks him how school was and he yells no in reply she does not press him for more. When Bella tells George he can’t do something, he doesn’t. They are a perfect match. She’s been with us for almost two years and is the only one George will hug, unprompted.
But Bella’s unreliable. She cancels at the last minute, shows up late, and sometimes when I text her upcoming dates she responds with, “I’m not sure yet.” She’s in college and she parties. This is not a guess. She tells me, because I want to be cool and liked by the nanny, so I make her feel comfortable to share stories with me, like how she dropped her phone in the toilet so she had to get a new one, or how she fell down the steps when she got home one night and that’s why she has that big bruise on her leg.
It was 7:30pm one evening when she canceled on us for the following morning. Another night of us scrambling to figure out how to schedule our day. I stopped using her. But every new person who came through our door could not get through to George.
After two months I reached back out to Bella. I missed her. I told her why I stopped asking her to come over, and she responded maturely and apologetically. We took her back.
Bella has not changed.
So we keep trying to “build up our roster,” as Sam says. All of this takes time. The scrolling, the messaging, the interviews, the reference calls, and then when it doesn’t work out, repeat.
We needed to try another approach. The next time a young woman came to the house, we told her, as cryptically as we could so George couldn’t hear, that he was, “not difficult…” I started, which made it seem like that’s exactly what I was saying, “just… particular.”
The girl nodded and waited for more. It was hard to come up with an example but I tried anyway.
“Like this bag.” I picked up a bag of coffee on the table. “It’s blue, right? He says it’s green. Well, it’s actually blue, bud. No! It’s green! Okay fine, it’s green.”
I looked at Sam. He tilted his head. “Is that really how you would handle that?”
“God, I don’t know, what’s your example?” I said.
We could not think of one. The color thing was stupid. It wasn’t what I meant.
The girl was receptive, anyway, which was what we were looking for. We wanted there to be some type of expectation the next time she came over. We wanted her to be open to having conversations after something had happened, to decide the next time some options of how to handle it.
When she left there was a package at our front door and she handed it to us. George wanted to open it.
“Maybe it’s another stool,” he said.
Two days earlier we had gotten a package and it was a little stool for the bathroom so they could wash their hands on their own. I started to open the box. “No, it’s not a stool,” I said. George jumped up and down and screamed, “Maybe it’s a stool!”
“Okay, let’s find out,” I said.
“Yes, let’s find out.” he said.
I opened the box. “Nope, not a stool!” he said.
It was a kickboard. We were going in the pool later, so I put the new kickboard and some towels out by the pool, then came inside to get their bathing suits on.
“Where’s the kickboard?” George asked.
“I put it out by the pool,” I said.
“Nooooooo! I wanted the kickboard!” George said.
Sam stood by the back door. We looked at each other. “I’ll go get it, bud,” Sam said.
Later George ate dinner and as he was finishing his last piece of shrimp I walked over to the table and dumped five more pieces onto his tray.
“No!!!” he yelled. “I wanted to show Papa that I ate it all!”
Sam intervened with a positive clip to his voice. “I saw bud, that’s awesome!” he said.
“No!!!” George cried.
I walked back to the table.
“Hey, bud, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you to tell me you were finished,” I said. “I should have waited for you to tell me.”
“Yea,” George said. “Okay.” He ate another piece of shrimp.
Next time I speak with a potential nanny I’ll bring up these examples, and maybe then we’ll finally find a good fit, or maybe none of this matters, and it has nothing to do with tactics or communication and everything to do with a connection, a vibe, and there’s no way of predicting it or fostering it, and all we can do is keep scrolling, keep messaging, keep interviewing, until a good fit finds us.
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Until next week,
Charlie
I could talk FOR HOURS ABOUT THIS WITH YOU.
“Two question marks. A desperate mom. “
I found out this week our nanny is moving. She’s reliable, wonderful, punctual. I am already a wreck.
My thumbs are sore from all the rapid fire texting to coordinate something.
and the bench. THE BENCH. It’s so real, i have SIX ON MY BENCH. And sometimes NONE OF THEM CAN HELP.
Why must it be so hard.
Loved this one, Charlie. Wish I couldn’t relate.
Can I consider this comment next weeks essay?
It's tough!! It sounds like your parenting with a RIE approach - try asking for nannies who support that. ✌️