Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

Mrs. X has beenperma-attached to her cell phone, soI'm keepingthe aforementionedeye, and hand, on Grayer. The very same Grayer who has taken to using his saddle shoes to push off from the cream paisley wallpaperinordertoseehowfarbackhecanrollbeforehittingsomeone. "Nanny,letgooo."

"Grover, I've asked you three times to stop. Hey, let's play I Spy. I spy something green? I spy cheek implants.

He struggles to reach down to where myhand is now serving as a brake on the right stroller wheel. His face is getting red and I can see he is nearly ready to explode. She took him to pose for portraits after school let out and we've been stuck running errands for the party ever since. After being in school all morning,frozeninsmiles

all afternoon,andthenliterally strappedin,hecan't beblamedforhitting his limit.

"Come on, this oneis hard. I spysomethinggreen. Betchacan't findit." I tightenmygrip on thestroller wheel as he hurls himself over the front bar, then gets snapped back by the straps, his resolve to free himself hardening. People standing near us shuffle away as much as the crowd will allow. I keep a smile on my face as my fingers get pinched into the carpet. Starting to feel a little like James Bond holding the ticking bomb, I assess potential escape routes to a less public venue for his impending tantrum. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two?

"I. WANT. TO. GET. OUT!" Hethrustshimself forward toemphasize eachword.

"XI Mrs. X, we'll see you now at desk eight."A girl my age (with whom, at this moment, I would trade positions inan absoluteheartbeat)motionsforMrs. Xto followher tothelongrow of mahoganydesks aroundthecorner.

"LETGO. I wanttoget out!I don't wanttoplay! I don't wantthestroller!"

Mrs. X pauses as she rounds the corner to place her right handover the speaker of her cell. She turns to me, beaming, and whispers as she points to Grayer. "Emoting. He's emoting to communicate his boundaries1."

"Right," I mouth back as I reach to loosen the stroller straps before he hurts himself. She disappears down the dark blue hall as I wheel our Emoting Grayer to the stairwell where he will be able to communicate thoseboundarieswhilehis father's newwatchgetstheattentionitdeserves.

Nanny,

The caterers will be setting up the tables this afternoon, so please keep Grayer out of their way. Theheadof theChicagoofficewill becomingbytodotheseatingarrangement.

I was wondering if you couldthrow something together for Grayer. dinner, sinceI won. be hometilleight. HelovesCoquillesSt. Jacques. AndIthinkwehavesomebeetsinthefridge. That shouldbesimple. Seeyouat 8.

Alsodon. forgettodohisflashcards.

Thanks abunch!

Coquillessaywhat?!Whateverhappenedtomacandcheesewith asideof broccoli?

In desperate search of a cookbook I pull open the teak cupboard doors, trying not to mark the trompe d'oeil walls, but there isn't a single cookbook to be found, not even the token joy of Cooking or Silver Palate.

She owns what I estimate, based on a Christmas stint at Williams-Sonoma, to be over $40,000 in appliances, yet everything continually looks as though it's just been unpacked. From the La Cornue Le Chateau custom color stove with electric and gas ovens that start at $15,000, to the full set of Bourgeat copper cookware for $1,912, everything is of the best quality. But the only appliance that looks broken in is the Capresso C3000 espresso machine that retails for $2,400.And, no, for that price, it does not findyou aman.I asked.

I open all the cabinets and the drawers, trying to familiarize myself with the equipment, as if holding eachWiisthofknifemighttellme thesecrettotheSt. SomethingI'm supposedtobepreparing.

Mysearchfor a recipeleads me out to her office where I find nothingbut a marked-up Neiman Marcus catalogandConnie,theXes'housekeeper,onher kneesscrubbingthedoorknobwith atoothbrush.

"Hi,doyouknowwhereMrs. Xkeepshercookbooks?" I ask.

"Mrs. X don't eat and shedon't cook." She redips the toothbrushin a jar of polish. "She got you cookin' fortheparty?"

"No?just dinnerforGrayer?"

"Can't seewhat's sospecialaboutthisparty. Shehateshaving

people here. We had, maybe, three dinners since she been here." She nods her head as she deftly scrubs aroundthekeyhole. "There's abunchof booksinthesecondguestroom. rythere."

"Thanks."

I continue roaming from room to cavernous room until I get to the guest suite. I skim the titles in the

floor-to-ceiling bookcase:

WhyShouldYouHavetheBaby?Stress andtheFertility Myth

They'reYourBreastsToo:TheNewWetNurseGuide

SoonerorLater WeAllSleepAlone:GettingYour In/antThroughthe

Night

TakingtheBiteOutofTeething

The Zen ofWalking. very Journey Begins with a First Step The Idiot's Guide to Potty Training The

Benefitsof theSuzukiMethodonYourChild's Left Brain

Development

The BodyEcology Diet forYourToddlerMaking theMost ofYour Four-Year-OUHow to PackageYour

Child;ThePreschoolInterview Makeitor Breakit:NavigatingPreschoolAdmissions

.. . And everything else you could possibly imagine in this genre to fill up four bookshelves right up

through:

City Kids Need Trees; The Benefits of a Boarding School Education The SATs. etting the Scene for

theRestofYourChild's Life

I standinsilencewithmymouthopen,forgetting,for afull moment,thecoquilles andbeets. Huh.

"I'm really concerned that you're going to fail out of school and be making other people dinner for the

restofyourlife!Thisis a redflag

THE NANNY DIARIES

here, Nan. Now,if memory serves, you signed onto provide child care forthis woman.That's all, right?

Isshepaying youanymoreforthisextra service?"

"No.Mom, thisisnot agoodtime tobehaving?

"I mean,youshouldspend adaydownhereattheshelterkitchen.Getsomeperspective."

"Okay,thisis not agoodtime tobehaving?

"At least you'd be helping people who really need it. Maybe you should just pause for a second, look insideyourself,checkin?MOM!" I tightenmychintokeepthephonefromslippingoutfromunderone ear as I grip a boiling pot of beets in my hands. "I can't really look inside myself right now, because I am justcallingtofindhowtopreparecoquillessaywhat,fortheloveofChrist!"

"I'm helping," Grayer says, a small hand coming up over theedge of thecounter, groping for the paring

knifeI've justputdown.

"Gottago."

I lungefortheknife,sendingtwentycoquilles flyingontothefloor.

"Cool! It's just like the beach, Nanny! Don't pick 'em up, leave 'em. I'm gonna go get my bucket." He

scampers out of the kitchen as I drop the knife in the sink and crouch to collect the mollusks. I pick up

one, thenanother,but as I grab for the thirdthe first slides out of myhand, across thefloor,and directly

into a gray snakeskin high heel. I jerk up to see a redheaded woman in a gray suit standing squarely in

thedoorway.

Grayer comes skipping around the corner holding his sand bucket, but freezes behind her when he sees myface.

"I'm sorry,canI helpyou?" I stand,motioningforGrayer tocome tome.

"Yes," shesays, "I'm hereto do theseatingarrangement." Shesaunters past me intothekitchen, pulling

offherHermes scarfandtyingitaroundthehandleof herslate-grayGuccibriefcase.

Shekneelstoretrieve a coquilleandturnstohandittoGrayer. "Didyoulosethis?" sheasks.

Helooksupatme. "It's okay,Grove,"I say, reachingoutandtakingitfrom her. "Hi,I'm Nanny."

"Lisa Chenowith, general manager of the Chicago office. And you must be Grayer," she says, setting

herbriefcasedown.

"I'm helping,"hesays,usinghis buckettoscoopup theremainingseafood.

"I coulduse a helper."Shesmiles downathim. "Areyoulookingfor a newjob?"

"Sure,"hemumblesintohis bucket.

I dump the shells in the colander and turn off the stove. "If you just give me a minute, I'll show you to