"You have some nerve!" The woman who's been waiting hustles her child past me to the toilet. "I think
it's unconscionableto keep a little girl waiting thatlong!" She narrows her heavily made-up eyes at me. "Who do you work for?" I take in her shellacked hair, her inch-long fingernails, her Versace blouse. "I meanit,whodoyouworkfor?"
"God,"I mutter,pushingpasthertoletGrayer intothepen.
Sima andI lift theboys ontothebrightblueslide. I lookover at
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her to gaugeif she's one of those caregivers who feel compelled to staywithin two feet of their charges
at all times,taggingalongonevery move.
"I thinktheyshould ..."shesays,pausing,clearlytryingtoreadme,aswell.
I nod,waiting forthesign.
"... beokayif theyaretogether?Whatdoyouthink?"
"I agree,"I saywithrelief, givenGrayer's moodandDarwin's aggression. "CanI treatyoutodessert?"
Oncewe've settled at a table in full view of the slide, I pass Sima a cupcakeand a napkin. "I'm glad you
don't mindletting theboys play. I usually tryto setGrayer freeandthencome up here where I cankeep an eye on him and do myhomework. But there's always some nosy caregiver who's, like, 'Um, Grayer's in the ... sandbox.'And I'm supposed to fly across the room with a cry of 'Not... THE SANDBOX!' " I laugh,covering mymouthtokeepcrumbs fromfallingout.
Sima giggles. "Yesterday, at a play date, the mother wanted me to color with Darwin, but if I put my crayon onhis drawing, he screams. Butshemademe sit there all afternoon,holdingthecrayon nearthe paper."Sheunwrapshercupcake. "HaveyoubeenwithGrayerforverylong?"
"Seven months. inceSeptember. Howaboutyou?" I ask inreturn.
"Two years now I have been with Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman." She nods her head and her dark hair falls
in front of her face. I'm guessing thatshe's in her early forties. "We used to play with the other girl, she
wasverynice.Whatwashername?" Shesmiles andtakes asipfromher miniaturecartonof milk.
"Caitlin.Yeah, I thinkshewentbacktoAustralia."
"She had a sister there who was very sick. In the hospital. She was saving up to visit her last time we
had a playdate."
"That's terrible, I had no idea. She was wonderful, Grayer still really misses her? Out of the corner of myeye I seeDarwin,poised 171
on the yellow plastic step above Grayer, pulling Mr. X's tie taut around G's neck. For a brief moment
Grayer's choking. isfaceturningredashereachesup his handstoclutchathis throat.
Then the knot of the tie gives way in one swift tug. Darwin rips it from around Grayer's red neck and
runs, laughing, to the other side of the room, disappearing into the climbing apparatus. Sima and I leap
up,dispatchingourselves totheopposingfronts.
"Grove,it's okay,"I calloutasI approach.
He gives forth a blast of rage toward Darwin that silences the entire room. "GIVE THAT BACK!!
THAT'S MY DADDY'S!! GIVE IT BACK!!!!!!!" He starts to sob and shake. "MY DADDY'S SO
MADAT YOU!!HE'S SOMAD!!!!"
Hecollapses,shakingwith theforceofhis tears. "Mydaddy's somad,he's somad."
I pull him onto my lap and start murmuring in his ear as I rock him. "You are such a good boy. Nobody
is mad at you. Your daddy's not mad at you. Your mommy's not mad at you. We all love you so much, Grove."
I carryhimuptothefoodarea,whereSima is waitingwith thetie.
"I... want," he gasps, his breath coming in gulps, "my.. . mommy." I knot the tie gently around his neck
andhelphimupontooneofthegreenbenchesnexttome,making a pillowforhimwith mysweater.
"Sih-muh?AreyouSih-muh?" thewoman fromthebathroomasks.
"Yes?"
"Your Darwinisontheslidebyhimself," sheannounces.
"Thankyou."Sima smiles graciously.
"Byhim-self,"themothersays again,asifSima isdeaf.
"Okay,thankyou."Sima rolls her eyes atme, but goes over tomakesureDarwin doesn't somehowhurt
himself onthethree-footslide,whileI rubGrayer's backashefallsasleep.
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I watch as she reaches out a hand to help Darwin place his legs over the top in preparation for his
descent. He rejectsher offerbysmackingher squarelyon thehead, thenlaughsandflies downtheslide. She stands for a moment with both hands on her head and then walks slowly back to our table and sits down.
"Darwin seems a little intense," I say. Actually, he seems like a potential homicidal maniac, but she must have stayed for a reason and ten dollars an hour isn't enough to subject oneself to gross bodily harm.
"Oh, no. He's just having a lot of anger because he has a new baby brother at home." She reaches up to
rubher head.
"Haveyouever talkedtothemabouthowhehits you?" I asktentatively.
"No. Well, they are so busy with the new baby. And he can be a very good boy." She takes little breaths asshespeaks.Thisishardlythefirsttime I've seenthis; everyplaygroundhasatleastonenannygetting the shit kicked out of her by an angry child. Clearly she doesn't want to talk about it, so I change the topic.
"You havesuch abeautifulaccent." I foldupthewrapperfrommycupcakeinto alittle square.
"I movedherefromSanSalvadortwoyearsago."Shewipesherhandswith a napkin.
"Doyoustill havefamilythere?" I ask.
"Well, myhusbandandsonsarethere."Sheblinks acoupleoftimesandlooksdown.
"Oh,"I say.
"Yes, we all came together, to find work. I was an engineer in San Salvador. But there were no more
jobsand we hopedtomakemoneyhere. Thenmyhusbandwasrejectedforthegreencard andhadtogo
backwith oursons,becauseI couldnotworkandtakecareofthem."
"Howoftendoyouseethem?" I askasGrayer shiftsfitfully inhis sleep.
"I trytogohome fortwoweeksatChristmastime, butthis year
1 73
Mr. andMrs. Zuckermanneededme togotoFrance."ShefoldsandunfoldsDarwin's sweater.
"Do you have pictures of your children? I bet they're beautiful." I am not sure what the positive spin is
on this situation or where to take this conversation. I know if my mom were here she would have
alreadyrolledSima upintheStoryTime rugandsmuggledhertothefirst safehouseshecouldfind.
"No,I don't keep a pictureonme. It's too ... hard . . ." Shesmiles. "SomedaywhenGrayer comes toplay
atDarwin's house,I will showyouthen.Whataboutyou? Doyouhavechildren?"
"No.Me?No,thankGod."We bothlaugh.
"Aboyfriend,then?"
"I'm working onthat," andI begin totell her about H. H. We shareslices of our own stories, theparts of
our lives the Zuckermans and the Xes neither partake in nor know about, amid all the bright lights and
colors, surrounded by a cacophony of screaming. It starts to snow outside the big windows and I tuck
my stocking feet beneath me while she rests her chin on her outstretched arm. Thus I while away the
afternoon with a woman who has a higher degree than I will ever receive, in a subject I can't get a
passinggradein,andwhohasbeenhomeless thanonemonthinthelasttwenty-four.
For the past week I've been arriving at seven to dress Grayer for school, before dropping him off with
Mrs. Butters and running madly down to class. Mrs. X never emerges from her room in the mornings
andisoutevery afternoon,soI wassurprisedwhenConnietoldme shewaswaitingformeinher office.
"Mrs. X?" I knockonthedoor.
"Come in." I push the door open with slight trepidation, but find her seated at the desk, fully dressed in
a cashmerecardiganandslacks. Despiteherbestefforts with creamblush,shestill looksdrawn.
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"Whatare youdoinghome soearly?" sheasks.
"Grayer had a run-in with some green paint so I brought him home to change before ice skating? The
phoneringsandshemotionsforme tostay.
"Hel
lo?. . . Oh, hi, Joyce ... No, the letters haven't come yet... I don't know, slow zip code, I guess . .."
Her voice still sounds hollow. "All the schools she applied to? Really? That's fabulous ... Well, which
one are you going to choose?.. . Well, I don't know as much about the girls' schools... I'm sure you'll
maketherightdecision ... Excellent. Bye."
She turns back to me. "Her daughter got into every school she applied to. I don't get it, she isn't even
cute . . . Whatwere you
saying?"
"The paint. on't worry, he wasn't wearing the Collegiate sweatshirt when it happened. He made a
reallybeautifultreepicture?
"Doesn't hehave a changeofclothesatschool?"
"Yeah,I'm sorry. eusedthemlastweekwhenGiselledumped glueonhim andI forgottoreplaceit."
"Whatif hehadn't hadtime tochange?"
"I'm sorry. I'll bringittomorrow."I starttoleave.
"Oh, Nanny?" I stick my head back in. "While I've got you, I need to have a talk with you about
Grayer's applications.Whereis he?"
"He's watchingConniedust."Your chair-railmoldings. Witha
toothbrush.
"Good, have a seat." She gestures to one of theupholsteredwing chairs across from her desk. "Nanny, I
havesomethingterribletotellyou."Shecasts her eyes downtoherhandstwisting inherlap.
I can't breathe. I bracemyself forpanties.
"We got some very bad news this morning," she says slowly, struggling to get the words out. "Grayer
gotrejectedfromCollegiate."
"No."I quicklywipe thelookofreliefoffmyface. "I don't believe it."
"I know. t's just awful. And, to make matters even worse, he's been wait-listed at St. David's and St.
Bernard's. Wait-listed." She shakes her head. "So now our fingers are crossed for Trinity, but if, for
some reason, that too doesn't work out, then we're just going to be left with his safeties and I'm not
enthusiasticaboutthecollegeplacements atthoseschools."
"Buthe's adorable. He's smartandarticulate. He's funny. Heshareswell. I justdon't getit." I mean,lose thetie,what's nottoloveaboutthiskid?
"I've beengoingover everything all morning,justtrying tomakesenseofit."Shelooksoutthewindow.
"Ourapplicationcoachtoldushewas a shoo-inforCollegiate." "My father did say this was the most competitive year they've ever had. They were inundated with qualified applicants and probably had to make some really tough choices." Keeping in mind that the applicants are four and you can't exactly ask them if they have any thoughts on the federal deficit or wheretheyseethemselves infiveyears.
"I thought your father liked Grayer when he met him," she asks pointedly, referring to the rainy
afternoonI tookhimover tomyhousetopet Sophie.
"Hedid.Theysang 'RainbowConnection'together."
"Hmmm. Interesting."
"What?"
"No,nothing.Justinteresting,that's all."
"Mydad's notreallyinvolvedat all withtheadmissions process." "Right. Well, I wanted to talk to you because I'm concerned that dressing him in that Collegiate sweatshirt may have set Grayer's expectations in a certain direction and I want to ensure that? She's interrupted by the phone. "Hold on." She answers it. "Hello? Oh, hi, Sally .. . No, our letters haven't come yet... Oh,Collegiate. Congratulations,that's excellent...Well, Ryan's a veryspe--
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cial little boy . . . Yes, that would be great. I know Grayer would love to go to school with Ryan ... Yes,
dinner would be lovely . .. Oh, the four of us? I'll have to check my husband's schedule. Let's talk after
theweekend...Great. Bye!" Shetakes a deepbreathandclenchesher jaw. "WherewasI?"
"Grayer's expectations?"
"Oh, yes. I'm concerned that your encouragement of his fixation on Collegiate may have set him up for
a potentiallydeleterious self-esteem adjustment."
i(T___?
"No, please don't feel bad. It's really my fault for allowing you to do it. I should have been more on top
ofyou."Shesighsandshakesherhead. "ButIspoketomypediatricianthismorningandhesuggested a Long-term Development Consultant who specializes in coaching parents and caregivers through this transition. She'll be coming by tomorrow while Grayer's in piano and she's asked to speak with you separatelytoassess yourroleinhis development."
"Great. That sounds like a good idea." I go through the doorway. "Urn." I stick my head back in.
"ShouldI notlethimwearit today?"
"What?" Shereachesforhercoffee.
"Thesweatshirt."
"Oh. Well, he can wear it today and then we'll let the consultant tell us how to handle this situation
tomorrow."
"Okay, great." I go back out to where Grayer, seated in the banquette, is watching Connie polish the
stove, while absentmindedly playing with the tie around his neck, and wonder if perhaps we're not
focusingonthewrongpieceofapparel.
I sit in the chair next to Mrs. X's desk, waiting for the consultant, and surreptitiously try to read, upside
down,thenotesscrawledonMrs. X's notepad.Eventhoughit's probablynothingmorethana
glorified grocery list, the fact that I have been left alone in here makes me feel as if I should be covert.
If I had a camera hidden in a button on my sweater I would frantically try to photograph everything on
thedesk.I'm startingtomakemyself laughattheideaofitwhenthewoman enters,briefcasefirst.
"Nanny." She reaches out to firmly shake my hand. "I'm Jane. Jane Gould. How are you today?" She
speaks just a little too loudly, eyeing me over her glasses as she puts her briefcase down on Mrs. X's
desk.
"Fine,thanks. Howare you?" I am suddenlyverycheerfulandalso a littletooloud.
"Just fine. Thank you for asking." She crosses her arms over her cranberry-colored blazer and nods
rhythmically at me. She has very big lips made up in the exact same cranberry, bleeding into the lines
aroundher mouth.
I nodbackather.
She looks down at her watch. "So, Nanny. I'm just going to get my pad out here and we'll get started."
Sheproceedstomentioneachactionasshedoes ituntilshe's seatedinMrs. X's chair,penpoised.
"Nanny, our objective over the course of the next forty-five minutes is to assess Grayer's perceptions
and expectations. I would like you to share with me the understanding you currently hold of your role
andresponsibilitiessurroundingGrayer's criticalpathwith regardtothenextstratumofhis schooling."
"Okay,"I say, replayingherstatement inmyheadtolocatethequestion.
"Nanny, in your first quarter at the X residence, how would you characterize your performance in
relationtoGrayer's academicactivity?"
"Good. I mean, I was picking him up from school. But, honestly, there wasn't a lot of academic activity
to?
"I see,soyoudonotconsideryourself anactive, dynamicpartic--
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ipantinhis process. Howwouldyoudescribeyouragendaduringhis scheduledplaytime?"
"Right... Grayer really likes to play trains. Oh, and dress up. So I try to do activities that he enjoys. I
wasn't aware thathehadanagendaforplaytime."
"Doyouengagehim inpuzzles?"
"Hedoesn't likepuzzlessomuch."
"Math problems?"
"He's alittle young?
"Whenwasthelasttime youpracticedcircles?"
"I'm suresometime inthelastweekwehadthecrayons out?
"DoyouplaytheSuzukitapes?"
"Onlywhenhetakes a bath."
"Haveyoubeenreadingtohimfrom theWall Street Journal?"
"Well, actually?
"TheEconomist.7"
"Not really?
"TheFinancialTimes?"
"ShouldI be?"
She sighs heavily and scri
bbles furiously on her pad. She begins again. "How manybilingual meals are
youservinghim aweek?"
"We speakFrench onTuesdaynight,but I usuallyserveveg!gieburgers."
"AndyouareattendingtheGuggenheimonwhatbasis?"
"We gototheMuseumofNaturalHistory. eloves therocks."
"Whatmethodologyareyoufollowingtodress him?"
"Hepicks outhis clothesor Mrs. Xdoes.Aslongashe'll be
comfortable?
"You don't utilize anApparelChart,then?"
"Not really?
"AndI supposeyouarenotdocumentinghis choiceswith him
on aClosetDiagram." "Yeah,no."
"Norareyouhavinghim translatehis colorandsizesintotheLatin."
"Maybe later this year." She looks back at me and nods for a while. I shift in my seat and smile. She leansacrossthedeskandtakesoffher glasses.
"Nanny,I'm goingtohavetoraise a flaghere."
"Okay."I leanintomeether.
"I havetoquestion whetheryou're leveragingyour assets to escalateGrayer's performance." Having let the cat out of the bag, she leans back and rests her hands in her lap. I sense that I should feel insulted. 'Leverage myassets?'Umm, anyone?
"I'm sorrytohearthat," Isayearnestly,astheonethingabundantlyclearisthatI shouldbefeelingsorry.
"Nanny, I understand you are getting your degree in arts-in-edu-cation so, frankly, I'm surprised by the lackofdepthsurroundingyourknowledgebasehere."Okay,nowI knowI'm insulted.
"Well, Jane."Shestraightensatthesoundofhername. "I am trainedtoworkwithchildrenwhohavefar fewerresourcesattheir disposalthanGrayer."
"I see,soyoudon't perceivethisopportunitytobeinanarenainwhichyouare a value-add."What?
"I wanttoaddvalue toGrayer,buthe's reallystressedoutrightnow?
Shelooksskepticallyatme. "Stressed?"
"Yes, he's stressed.AndI feel. ndI am only anundergradhere, Jane,soI'm sureyou'll takethis with a grainofsalt. hebestthingI cangive himis somedowntime sothathis imaginationcangrowwithout being forced in one direction or another." Blood rushes to my face and I know I've gone too far, but
beingmadetofeellikeanidiotbyyet anothermiddle-agedwoman inthis officeis just a bitmorethanI canhandle.
She scribbles a few more notes and smiles evenly at me. "Well, Nanny, I advise you to integrate time forreflectionasyoucontinue
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to work with Grayer. Here are a series of Best Practices from other caregivers thatI suggestyou review and internalize. This is explicit knowledge, Nanny, explicit knowledge from your peers that must become tacit for you if Grayer is to reachhis optimal state." She hands me a bunch of papers with a big clip atthetopandstands,slidingherglasses backon.
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