The children I'm nannying are the most sour-dispositioned kids I've ever met in my life.

And I've met some class-A brats. I've even been one.

They cry absolutely constantly, which I just ignore (I get that from my parents, who told us they didn't want to hear bellowing unless they saw blood), and whine about every little thing (which I also ignore).

They scream "Mommy!" and thrash about every time I make them do something they don't like (like putting on their pajamas or coats).

They always scowl. Not just frown. Not just a blank expression. But actual scowling.

The only time the sourpusses ever smile is when they've made the other cry.

Then there's more thrashing about and "Mommy!"ing.

The older one hyperventilated yesterday because he spilt a spot of ice cream (a "lolly" here is soft serve ice cream in a cone) on his blanket at the annual Oxford-Cambridge crew race.

Then the younger one started crying and thrashing about because that's what her brother was doing.

The brother, aged four, actually asked me to wipe his bum after he used the loo yesterday.

I looked at him and said, deadpan, "what's wrong with your arms?" and walked away.

The youngest, aged two and a half, isn't even close to being potty-trained yet.

And I have no intention of combating her incessant thrashing about and "Mommy"ing over it. None whatsoever.

betholindo at 11:18 a.m.

previous | next