Our Noisy Nanny

When my maternity leave came to an end and I was ready to go back to my teaching job, we knew we needed a nanny for our toddler.

Mary R  had cleaned house for us weekly for years and we asked if she could care for Noah while I was at school.  Mary loved kids,  she was a grandmother herself,  and had a very sweet and bubbly personality.  When she was in the apartment Noah often followed her around as she cleaned.  She called him Chicky and often sang to him to his great delight.

So when she said yes we were delighted and Danny and I went off to work every day knowing that Noah was in good hands.  In fact I soon began to rely on Mary for her advice on what to feed him,  how to set bedtime routines,  potty training and the like.  Although we loved our pediatrician Dr S,  if his advice differed from Mary’s,  I always took hers.

When I’d come home from school Mary would  sit me down with a ready cup of tea,  ask about my day,  and tell me about her day with Noah.

Mary liked to cook and offered to make us dinner on occasion.   And so I’d often come home to the smell of onions frying or a fragrant soup bubbling up.  But one day I opened the door to a deafening noise coming from the kitchen.

We had a portable dishwasher then which had to be wheeled over and attached to the sink.  The top was butcher block which served as a cutting board and the sound I heard was Mary pounding chicken breasts with a kitchen mallet.  The unstable dishwasher rattled and banged beneath her as she pounded.

“Oh dear,”  I cried. “what a noise!”

”Yes,”  she laughed,  “and Chicky loves it.”

And I turned to see Noah in his highchair with two wooden spoons in his little fists.  Each time Mary raised the mallet,  he raised the spoons and then down they came on the highchair tray.

Mary and I laughed,  but that night I lay awake worrying.  Could such loud noises harm my child’s ear drums?  Might he be driven deaf by those pounded chicken breasts?

The next day I tried to test his hearing. I crept up behind him and called his name.  Half the time it seemed he didn’t hear me,  or was it just toddler obstinance?

But I guess I soon forgot about it.  Then a week or so later I was sitting with Mary over tea when she told me that her women’s bowling league,  which had been meeting one night a week,  had decided to play during the day instead.

“Oh Mary,  I know you love bowling,  I’m sorry you’ll have to miss it now.”   I said.

“Oh no,”  Mary said  “it’s fine,  we went this morning and Chicky was my lucky charm,  I never bowled a better game!”

”You mean you took Noah to the bowling alley!”   I asked in disbelief.

“Yes,  and he loved it.”  Mary said,  “every time a bowling ball hit the pins he clapped his hands,  and all the ladies fussed over him so!”

The next day I took Noah to Dr S and told him about Mary and the chicken breasts,  and how she had taken him to the bowling alley. The doctor listened patiently to my tale,  and then he tested Noah’s hearing.

”His hearing is fine,”  he said  “and it sounds like Mary is a wonderful nanny.   And since Noah loves to make noise,  perhaps he’ll grow up to be a drummer.”

And guess what dear reader,  he did!

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

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The Great Hampton Babysitter Heist 

When our son Noah was very young we spent several summers in the Hamptons in a rented house a short drive from both the beach and the town.

One summer my husband Danny invited his business colleague Stan to join us for the weekend with his wife Lynn and their two young sons.

Noah was about five at the time, and Mikey and Josh were probably four and six.  The boys played nicely together,  but I couldn’t help noticing that Stan and Lynn seemed over-anxious with their sons.  I think today they would be called “helicopter parents” .

Lynn slathered the boys with suntan lotion as soon as we got to the beach,  insisted they keep their sun-hats on even in the water,  and changed them into dry bathingsuits as soon as they came out.

And Stan was very careful about what the kids ate and frowned when Danny barbecued hot dogs,  and when I offered them ice cream and cookies.

But we enjoyed their company and were having a lovely weekend together when I announced I had made hard-to-get Saturday night dinner reservations for us grownups at a celebrated Hampton restaurant,  and had arranged for our babysitter to stay with the boys.

I saw consternation on Lynn and Stan’s faces and they asked how trustworthy was our babysitter.  I assured them that Janey had been babysitting for us pretty regularly over the summer,  was a lovely young woman,  and Noah adored her .  But I agreed that sitting for three kids rather than one might be a bit much, so I called Janey.

She said she’d bring two of her girlfriends who  were excellent babysitters.  Three sitters for three kids sounded like overkill to me,  but it reassured Lynn and Stan and so it was agreed.

That night Janey and her two girlfriends biked over to our house.  Lynn and Stan questioned them about their babysitting experience,  and gave them lengthy instructions about allowable snacks, TV watching,  and bedtime.  Then as their boys seemed happy to be left with the three lively babysitters,  Lynn and Stan kissed them good night and we left for the restaurant.

Returning late after a leisurely dinner we were surprised to see the lights still blazing in the house.  Once inside we saw the three babysitters and the three kids sitting cross-legged on the floor watching TV and eating ice cream  – no PJs on and way past the appointed bedtime.

“Why are they still up?  What’s going on here?”  Lynn demanded of the sitters almost hysterically.

“It’s OK Mom,  we went into town to get ice cream!”  announced Mikey.

“And we got all our favorite flavors!”  said Josh.

”But how exactly did you got into town?”  Stan demanded.

”Oh,  it was easy”  said Janey,  “ we all have night lights on our bikes and we each took a kid on our handlebars.”

I saw Stan reach out to catch his wife in case she fainted.

 

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

Aruba Nights

Somewhere among all the art work, photos,  and birthday cards I’ve saved over the years are a few sheets of drawing paper with crayoned sketches,  fastened together with string to make a little book – a precious  piece of memorabilia from my son’s childhood.

Noah must have been about four when we took him on his first plane trip to Aruba.  I had bought a set of matching luggage in three sizes,  and I told Noah the smallest one was his.  Together he and I packed it,  and as we checked in at the airport counter,  he proudly told the agent, “The littlest one is mine.”

When we landed and were waiting at baggage claim,  out came the biggest suitcase – my husband’s.  Then we spotted the middle-sized suitcase – my own.  But Noah’s sweet little suitcase was no where in sight and you can imagine his tears!

Thankfully a kindly porter came to the rescue.  He took Noah by the hand,  led him to an area behind the luggage carousel, and when they came out Noah had his little suitcase in tow!  Now our vacation at the Divi Divi Hotel could begin.

One morning during our stay we heard that a mother cat was about to give birth under a bush that by chance was very near our hotel-room patio.  Folks gathered to watch and wait, and many other parents brought their children.

But as the wait dragged on,  the crowd gradually dispersed.  Danny and I went back to our patio,  but Noah refused to leave the spot and watched over that mother cat patiently until her labor ended.  I think he was the only one still there to welcome the newborn kittens.   (Years later Noah had another wondrous experience when he worked at a horse farm on Martha’s Vineyard and stayed late into the night to watch a mare deliver her foal!)

But thinking back to that Aruba vacation,  I remember that one day Danny and I decided to get a babysitter and have a romantic dinner.  We had no apprehensions as back home Noah was well used to babysitters.

One of his favorites was his beloved great-aunt Hannah who took him everywhere – to the zoo,  Broadway shows,  museums,  all the wonderful children’s activities in the city,  and for many years to the St Patrick’s Day parade.

And Noah had other wonderful babysitters as well.  He was born at Cornell University’s Lying-In Hospital on the upper eastside,   and Cornell’s nursing school,  which is now up at the college’s Ithaca campus,  back then was in Manhattan near the hospital.  Nursing students who were available to babysit put their names on a babysitting register,  a list that was taped to our refrigerator for years.

But before you read on I must confess to a habit I had of telling my child a little white lie.  It started once when I said a babysitter was coming and we were both going out.  Noah asked where we were going.  “To the movies.” I said.   “I like movies,  I want to go too!”  he wailed.

After that,  in order to spare his feelings – or so I rationalized – whenever we went out I’d say we were going to a meeting.   He already knew that some nights Danny went out to a business or college alumni meeting,  and some nights  I’d be out at a PTA or board or book meeting.  And surely I thought Noah wouldn’t distinguish between those midweek, one-parent-out meetings,  and Saturday night “meetings“  when both of us left and the babysitter came … or would he?  (And by the way,  I may not have been the only parent telling little white lies – I once called my friend Michelle and her eight-year old answered the phone.   “They’re not home,”  the kid said.  “they went to ANOTHER Hadassh meeting.” 

So there we were in Aruba in want of a babysitter, and the hotel concierge referred us to a young woman on the housekeeping staff.   When we told Noah that a babysitter was coming and we were going out to a meeting he cocked his head to one side,  put his hands on his hips and said,    “You’re going to a meeting … here?”

Postscript 

Noah’s Aruba babysitter was a delight!  She had brought a sketch book and crayons with her,  and when we got back from dinner Noah showed us a wonderful book they had made together.   Tied with string were several sheets of sketch paper with drawings they had both made of parakeets and the iconic divi divi tree and other lovely Aruba sights.

Months later back in New York,  Danny’s aunt Graciela came from Luxembourg to visit.  We saw her very seldom and she had never met Noah,  and so to have more time together,  we kept Noah up way past his bedtime.  It was dusk on a  balmy summer evening when we went out to Carl Schurz Park.  We stopped in the playground and Graciela was pushing him on the swings when Noah looked up at us.  “I feel like I’m in Aruba.”  he said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Us in Carl Schurz Park –  circa 1979

– Dana Susan Lehrman