We’ve had a lot of nannies. Actually…6, if you include the year I stayed at home with Max. And since I quit my stay-at-home-mommy job and went back to work, I’ll put myself in that same unsuccessful pool as the others who have come and gone. We’ve had a few that were great for the time. A few that were HORRENDOUS (I still haven’t forgiven myself for a single day I left my children in their hands). And now we have my beloved Grace. She’s my dreamy nanny, as I call it.
Yesterday Grace called me very upset while I was at work. Her good friend was a nanny to a little boy down the street and the situation had turned ugly. She wanted to know if her friend could come spend the afternoon with her and my kids at our house. I asked what happened and she told me these details:
- the woman only spoke Polish
- was working for a Polish family
- she had one day off a month
- worked really long hours
- was only allowed to take occasional showers because water was expensive
- could only call home once in a while
- did not have a car
- was not allowed to go anywhere with the child other than the basement and the park.
(Sounded pretty much like a slave.)
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Well, apparently the child got sick and the employer blamed the nanny. When the nanny defended herself the scene turned ugly. Suitcases were packed and the nanny was kicked out. They refused to pay her for her time. So she had no place to go, no way to get there, no money to even buy food. She walked over to the park in hopes of finding Grace. Luckily she was there.
Back to my nanny…I told her to bring her friend back to my house and give her lunch. She needed some quick money, and since my cleaning lady (me) had not done her chores this weekend, I told her that if her friend cleaned my house I would pay her. She was very excited. I was ecstatic.
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A few hours later I walked in my house and saw her sitting on the couch. I wanted to help her but I was feeling so helpless. So I did what I know to do…I kept offering her food. Grace kept laughing at me dancing around the house with nonsensical snacks. Eventually she let me know that the best way to help her was to just let her come back the next afternoon until she could catch a train somewhere. I just thought that maybe if she kept eating, it would make her less upset. (It usually works for me.)
And then I realized something. This woman was not feeling sorry for herself AT ALL. She was actually smiling and playing with Max and Sami. In her eyes, she was able to stay in America. She was out of that awful situation. And she had found a great friend. Life was good. Not even my dark chocolate covered granola bars would make her feel any better than she already felt. In reality it was me that was feeling badly. Because as I looked around my comfortable home, filled with every toy that Target sells and every snack my children (and I) ever desire, I realized that I didn’t take nearly as much stock in my life as this woman did in hers. At first glance, in my eyes, she had nothing. But as I read her smile, I realized, she felt like she hit the jackpot.
So I thanked my cabinets for being filled. I hugged my children, along with their blankies and my daughter’s stuffed animal chicken named “Ducky” (still not sure how that happened). And I touched Grace’s arm and said, “Thank you. Thank you for everything you do.” Grace smiled with tear-filled eyes and said to me, “Get in the shower. We all need you to go to work.”
And so I did. And once I was in the shower, I thanked my glass tiles for being so awesome, too.
