Nanny Trauma Drama: The Sequel

2020 March 17

Required preread: We Thought We Found the Perfect Nanny

Whence last we spoke, I was in a puddle of tears due to the no-show-nanny on day one of my new job.   The exhaustive nanny hunt followed by the nanny trauma drama had me shook, but as we women do, I put one high-heeled foot in front of the other and marched onward.

By day I was leaning in, learning the ropes at my new company and proving to them that I was the right man for the job.  Each workday also offered the logistical challenge of onboarding a patchwork of pinch-sitters in efforts to keep things rolling along as smoothly as possible for my three little girls. 

By night I was interviewing, reference checking, and mining the fields for a new crop of potentially permanent nannies.

But by late night, was conducting a Keith Morrison style investigation into who exactly this woman was that betrayed my trust and evaporated into thin air with our house key and our car seats.  Hindsight, fact finding via the online Yellow Pages, and Monday morning quarterbacking have led me to these grim conclusions:

Red Flag #1: She gave me a printed copy of her “background check.” Even more concerning: she did not accept my request through Sittercity to conduct an official background check or driving record check of my own.  What was she hiding?

Red Flag #2: Turns out she has three different names according to the internet. Anyone who has seen one episode of Dateline knows this is code for creepy.   

Red Flag #3: In the words of my four-year-old who spent time with her during her orientation, ”She was nice but her car smelled bad and I didn’t like her music.” Car smells are a BIG DEAL to kids. I can still recall the stench of a certain wood paneled station wagon from the carpool of my youth.  I am convinced that my acute adult motion sickness originated while sitting in the backety-back of our neighbor’s smelly Buick as a kid while Kenny G blared from the tape deck.  To this day, any time I hear this saxophone sonata, I am immediately nauseous.  Simply put, Hallie did not care for that stanky stank or the soundtrack.  These. Things. Matter.   

I see some of you out in the wild and I always get asked “Did you ever get your car seats back?”  That brings me to the next red flag.

Red Flag #4: After a STRONG dose of legalese from my husband via text and voicemail, the car seats finally appeared on our back porch in the dark of night a few weeks after it all went down.  But. Instead of unclipping them like a normal human, she cut them out. That means she used some sort of industrial strength pruning shears to cut the seatbelt material attached to the latch clip that attaches the car seat to the car.  Car seats are useless if they can’t be secured to the car. What conclusions can we draw from this seat snipping situation?

  • A) This lady has ZERO childcare experience because anyone who has been around kids would know rudimentary car seat mechanics. This would therefore mean that she faked her references. Something that makes sense considering those phone calls were, well, odd.
  • B) This was an act of malicious aggression. 
  • C) All of the above.  

I am currently using my # 2 pencil to fill in “C” on my scantron.  Keep your eyes on your own paper.

In conducting this postmortem, I can see it all so clearly now.  We dodged a serious bullet by not having this duplicitous wackadoo take care our most precious precocious possessions.  I really think Someone was looking out for us, and I am honesty relieved that this woman did not spend another moment in my home with my children.

Thankfully, this suburban legend has a happy ending. We found the perfect nanny who has now been with our family for over a year.  I love her, my children love her, and she does all the things necessary to keep the all spinning plates in the air on the home front.  I would literally give her my kidney if she needed it.  She can certainly have my gallbladder and I would most likely give her one of my more vital organs if the need arises.

Her car even smells good.


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