Back to Square One

So, we’re back to where we started: We really need to solve this nanny situation.

(Here’s the backstory).

After at least four failed attempts, the agency finally sent us a reasonable nanny.

Or so we thought.

The cracks appeared about six weeks after she started. She was taking the kids out for fast food almost every day after school. A few times we came home and she was busily texting on her phone. MGM wasn’t doing his homework. Her car broke down and she canceled at the last minute. Little things. Tiny little things.

One night we asked her to stay late. I arrived home at nearly 8 PM. The kids were wild. And hungry. It hadn’t occurred to her to feed them dinner.

Our DVR queue is also completely full of episodes of “The Bachelor,” and by no stretch of the imagination can I even accuse Ever Patient Spouse of secretly being a fan. It’s her.

I blamed myself for trying to appear too laissez-faire during the interview process. (“Oh, yeah. We’re not like those uptight helicopter parents. The kids can do, you know, whatever. Just make sure they’re not dead.”)

Then this: Last week, frantic calls from the school indicated that she simply hadn’t shown up to collect the children. Spouse and I had no idea where they were. I finally reached Nanny and she simply said that she had been taking a nap in the middle of the day and just didn’t wake up. 

If the situation had been reversed, I would have been profusely apologetic and appropriately mortified. She wasn’t at all. There wasn’t even an “I’m sorry.”

The school principal informed us that this isn’t new. She’s frequently late. The principal has taken to watching MGM and Trixie by the front door to make sure she shows up.

Tonight: Spouse came home and the house was quiet. Investigation determined that the kids were upstairs watching Netflix shows on an iPad.

But where was Nanny?

Further investigation revealed that she was soundly asleep on our sofa, stretched out from end-to-end, snuggling in a cashmere blanket with numerous decorative pillows.

It took Spouse shouting her name four times before she roused. Again, no apology. No “Mea culpa.” Zilch.

Spouse told her to go.

A terse email to the agency confirmed that she will not be welcome on Monday.

So now we’re back at square one. Sigh.