As a nanny, I often found myself using my own items to help out with the job. Like my car. With my first family I didn’t mind this, the dad was awesome about paying me for anything extra, and the kids were old enough to make sure they followed the rules (no food, seat belts on) and were respectful about not tearing it up. When that job was up, and I was looking again, I decided that any family with children under 5 would need to provide a vehicle for my use because:
A. I couldn’t fit more than one car seat in my car.
B. It was a 2 door Mercedes. No baby seat was fitting back there without me eating the windshield.
C. I didn’t want a load of small children tearing my cute car to shreds.
     While this might seem unreasonable to some, you have to realize that it wasn’t a big deal, at least monetarily, to most families I interviewed with. A nanny car was like purchasing a small dog or a cocktail dress. It was a blip on the money screen.
     I headed out to an interview with 2 small children with a dad who worked outside the home and a mom who was expecting her third child and wanted to head back to work about 2 weeks after having it. I arrived in, yet again, a neighborhood that screamed “We have a ton of money!” I was let in by the dad who was really nice. He led me into the kitchen, asked me if I wanted anything to drink, and said he’d let his wife know I was here. They had a beautiful home with lots of pictures of their two boys, a large dog, big windows all over that went from floor to ceiling, and a huge backyard covered in toys. It seemed pretty normal and happy.
     The mom arrived in and sat herself next to me. She definitely looked 9 months pregnant, but she also looked extremely irritated. “Well,” she said briskly, “Thank God you speak English.” At that my eyes almost jumped out of my head. What? She continued, unaware of any reaction on my part.
     “We have two kids and I need a nanny to help out around here. Obviously I’m pregnant and I’m having a hard time keeping up with them. He -,” she tilted her head towards her husband who was looking like he wanted to hide in the chair, “has to work all day and I’m left here all alone. Let me give you a rundown of the day. I’d need you here by 6am to cook breakfast for all of us. The kids will need to be dressed and ready for their daily activities by 8am. At 9 I like to have hot tea with some type of scone – he,” again with the head tilt, “usually does that but he’ll need to leave for work earlier for the next few months. I have a morning activity planned for the boys every day that you will take them to. I’ll have you drop them off, come back here and start laundry and then fix lunch. After I eat – I like to eat alone – you’ll go pick up the boys and serve them lunch, then naps. Finish the laundry and you can start putting baby stuff in drawers for me. Once the baby is here I will expect you to care for her in the afternoon so I can get a nap in. I don’t know if I will go back to work, I would prefer not to,” evil eyes darted towards “him” who was now smashed so far down in the chair I wondered if he would just simply slide off soon and lay on the floor. “But it seems as if that might not be an option. Either way, I expect you to pick up where I left off around here. After you fix dinner and clean up the house, you can leave. That should be around 6:30/7. Oh, one thing I absolutely must have you do – I hate smears from the boys hands on the windows. Those will need to be cleaned every evening.” Like I said before, floor-to-ceiling windows. Everywhere.
     I’d like to say that at this point I told her she needed to advertise for a servant, not a nanny, but then she happened to glance at my resume package the agency had sent her. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly in a voice that sounded anything but sorry, “You require a car? What did you get here in?” Her voice dripped in sarcasm. I explained to her that my car wouldn’t fit two car seats, the wear and tear on it ended up costing me money, and that it was easier for the parents to provide it because my insurance wouldn’t cover it as a business vehicle.
     If looks could kill, I would have burst into flames right there on that chair and died. So would her husband, who I could tell had apparently not mentioned this to her. “We really don’t require that much driving,” she said.
     “You mentioned I’d be taking and picking up the kids from daily activities and coming back in between that. That’s a lot of miles no matter where the places are,” I said, wondering why I even bothered arguing with her.
     “Yes,” she said slowly, “And what we pay you should amply cover that cost.” Amply was stretching it. They were offering a rather low salary for their area and needs. And the fact that the actual job was much different than the job description they had given the agency made the pay even worse.
     I mumbled something about giving it some thought and thanked them for their time. She stood and said, “So will you take the position?” I told her I had other interviews and would let them know by the end of the week. She looked absolutely stunned that I would consider anything else. Suddenly she became super sweet, saying, “Is it money? Because we could consider going higher, that was just a jumping off point. And you know, a car might be easy to come by. We could even let you drive the BMW for a while.” As shocked and confused as I was by this complete turn around, I stuck to letting them know in a few days.
     I called 3 days later to decline the job. Yes, I hoped with all my heart I would get the answering machine. I got her husband, who excitedly told me that his wife had just had their baby, a little girl, the day before. Now feeling awful, I explained to him that it just wasn’t a good fit and I had found another position. There was dead silence on the phone. “I thought we told you we would offer more money,” and I heard desperation in his voice. I understood. I wouldn’t have wanted to tell her the news either. I reiterated I had taken another job, and he said angrily, “Well, you’ve put me in a real pickle. Do you understand that? What am I supposed to do now?” I tried not to giggle at the “pickle” part, because I had really never heard anyone actually say that. I told him I was very sorry, hoped he would find someone, and he hung up without another word.
     The agency told me later on that they interviewed over 30 people for the job. No one took it and eventually they put the kids in daycare. Where I’m sure they had many more “pickle” incidents.

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   I’ve had several people ask if my last story as a nanny was entirely true. I understand. If you’ve never lived that life, or had jobs with rules for interviewing (like you can’t ask if your potential employee intends to be knocked up in the next few years) then you probably can’t imagine this is real. It is. I’m not exaggerating or making any of these up. So keep that in mind as you read this next one:

   During interviewing for a part time position, I came across a family through Craigslist that was looking for a nanny 3 full days a week (10 hours a day) for their 3 month old daughter. After speaking with them by phone and deciding we were all initially on the same page, I went to meet them.

   I arrived at a large home in a nice, quiet neighborhood. Schools were nearby, kids were out playing, and I thought it seemed really charming. They were a mid-30′s couple who appeared laid back and very excited about finding a nanny. They kept saying they were looking for a part of their family.

   It was going well initially, although I was a little weirded out that we were in a pretty dark kitchen area at the table. However, after a few minutes of chit chat the dad pulled out a large stack of papers. All typed. And began to read me questions off of them. I didn’t mind too much, after all, I had the same thing in one of my notebooks I brought along, until he started asking if I had ever been arrested, did I like to party, how was my credit, would I mind having a credit check run on me, was my family willing to be called and talked to, and then… did I know how to use a gun? All of these prior I answered no, no, fine, sure, um – maybe, and then a blank stare. A gun?

  He said that if I didn’t know how to use one he would be happy to pay for lessons. I was really unsure of what to say at that point, and his wife chimed in, “And if you ever see anyone sneaking around here or looking over the fence you have to call the police and then us immediately.” By this time I was freaking out, and then the dad added, “And our daughter can’t ever go outside with you. Besides the backyard. Ever.” I asked what about if I stayed with them long term and wanted to take her to the park down the street or out in the front yard when she was older – and both of them shook their heads. “No,” he said emphatically. “We simply don’t feel comfortable with that.”

   I was dumbfounded. What on earth could they mean? I figured at this point the interview was pretty much over for me, I couldn’t imagine being trapped in the house all day with an infant and having to be so paranoid about people poking around their home. Why would people want to?

   I found out in a minute. The husband asked if I had any questions, and since I just wanted to leave I said no, and he said he thought I was the perfect candidate, and would I like to see the house? I agreed out of complete curiosity, and as we went past a room (not making this up) he pointed to the closed door and said, “If you ever go in this room I will have to…” he paused and must have seen the look of complete horror I had on my face so ended it by saying, “have to change your social security number.” He and his wife laughed nervously and then both said, “No, seriously, do not go in this room.”

   I was a mess at this point. I had a massive headache from trying to think of a way to leave their home immediately without being murdered or locked away in their basement. The wife must have noticed because she said, “We both work for the government. That’s why we have all these rules. The room has a lot of confidential documents and information in it. We know if certain people found out who we were they would come after us and our daughter.” They both had these looks, almost smirks on their faces like they knew they had sufficiently freaked me out and might have impressed me. Yes on the former, no on the latter. Not impressed.

   Well. Government jobs (CIA, FBI?) certainly explained a lot but I still couldn’t imagine working for them no matter what they did. So I said I had other interviews to do before I decided, which was true, thanked them, grabbed my things, and left as quickly as possible. They called and left me a message a few hours later offering me the job, and I called back and declined, saying I had found something else that was closer to my home. The dad said he was devastated and wondered if more money would make me change my mind? I privately thought that them giving me unlimited access to their bank account wouldn’t have even tempted me into taking it.

   I can’t think of who would have been comfortable taking a job like that. I found one of my amazing families to work for right after that and remember sitting at their table hearing them ask about how often I’d take the kids out and being so open with their lives. It was a huge relief. Those experiences made me appreciate the normal people even more.

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   So I decided to start a Terrible Tuesday post. Sam goes back to work, things are a mess here, I have a ton of laundry, so to lighten it up I thought I would share some of my many, many stories about my life as a nanny in Southern California. And believe me, I have some really funny and crazy ones.

   I was a nanny for 3 years when we lived in San Diego. I worked long term for 2 of the most wonderful families you could imagine. Seriously. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I found them in the midst of the semi-psychoness that is SoCal. So these posts won’t be about them, because I love them and I would like to keep in touch still. I might mention them once in a while but only in the best of lights.

   These are about the people I interviewed with or worked briefly for. I won’t be using names or identifying info because some of them were high profile. And that’s just bad taste. So guess away, because you’ll probably never figure it out.

   I’ll start with one that I will never forget. I was between jobs and interviewing for a full time position. Full time in nanny land usually means 50-60 hours a week. Some weekends. Some holidays. Some travel. Sometimes they just want you to adopt their children. I was looking for a live-out position since I was married. I did my own search and went through agencies there, and one of the agencies contacted me about a position with a high profile, local family with 7 kids. 7. I felt like Maria on the Sound of Music just hearing that. The mom home schooled all of them with the help of 2 private teachers. I would be caring for the younger ones during that time and then all of them after school hours. The agencies couldn’t tell me their name but said they were interested in my profile she’d given them.

   I was contacted later that day by a man who was the household manager for this family. Oh, I’m sorry, ONE of their household managers. The SoCal one. The others (seriously, they had 3) lived across the country in their other homes. So of course at this introduction, I was sufficiently in awe and a nervous mess. He wanted to do a phone interview with me. So he asked me the general questions – what was I looking for? Experience? Hours? Pay? Could I travel? Willingness to go overseas? Could I fill in as a teacher if needed? What religion was I? Did I plan on having kids soon? (You may freak someone asked me this, but as a nanny it happened in almost every interview. I just got used to it.)

   I answered all of these the best I could and he said he would pass the information on to the family and let me know if I was going any further in the process with them. A few days later I was back on the phone for round two. Only this time, I was told their last name and to “Google them for more information.” Which I promptly did. No need to ask me twice. I googled everyone before meeting them to make sure I wasn’t interviewing with a mass murderer. He set up a face to face interview time where I would meet them.

   The day of the interview I drove (in my Mercedes because that’s how nannies rolled in Cali) up to their home. The closer I got, the more terrified I became. I passed a winery, a golf course, a country club, further up in the foothills the homes got bigger and bigger… and then I turned into their gated driveway. And died.

   Their house looked like the White House. It was SO big that it didn’t even fit into the screen of my camera (oh yes folks, I’m so country I took a picture because I knew no one would ever believe me). It was 10,000 sq. ft (thank you Google) not including a guest home and 5 car garage. The lawn was perfect, the cars were perfect, they had giant white columns that ran along the entire front of the house and they had 4 huge chimneys.

   So I pulled up to the box on the gate and … well, I didn’t know what to do. I remember so well the feeling of sitting in my car, praying the box didn’t have a video camera where people were laughing at me inside as I sat there in confusion and stared at it. You can’t blame me, it had 0-9 and an enter button. I pressed enter and nothing happened. I read the directions I had hoping for a clue. Nope. I was now looking at almost being late – something I figured would not be tolerated. Hysterical, I tried to find the phone number the house manager had called me on. No luck. I started pressing buttons, desperately wishing one of the workers on the lawn would come over. Only I knew no Spanish so it wouldn’t have helped much.

   By this time I was near tears, until I heard a voice from the box say, “Can I help you?” O.M.G. - they had a camera. I smiled bravely and said with full confidence, “Yes, I’m here to see the – family. I’m interviewing for a nanny position.” The gate buzzed and I went in. I still have no idea how on earth anyone could get in there.

   Once inside, the house manager greeted me and walked me through their GINORMOUS hallway with ceilings 20 ft high. I was warmly greeted by the mom – dad was away speaking across the country (I rarely met dads in my interviews) and the kids were in school. She explained a little about the position and the kids, their travel schedule and needs, and then asked me to give my “personal testimony of how I gave my life to the Lord Jesus.”

   I just sat there dumbfounded. I’m a Christian and would have loved to work for a family that was as well so we were all on the same page – but I wasn’t ready for that. I felt like a 5th grader at a camp talking to a counselor about my life. Only I was 22 and interviewing for a job. I stuttered my way through my life and how in 2nd grade I accepted Jesus into my heart, but I really had been thrown for a loop. 

   After that she took me to meet the kids. We went into a room that had one door and no kids. So she moved the bookshelf and behind it was – not joking – a secret set of stairs with stone walls that led into the kids playroom/school/game area.

   The kids were beyond sweet and nice, and I felt that maybe I had been a little stupid to feel weird about the testimony thing. Obviously they were a wonderful family with great values and wanted the same for their kids. I was asked to do a second interview where I watched the kids for part of the day to see if we all got along. I agreed. I showed up a few days later, and the mom left. Gone. She waved goodbye as I entered the house and I was staring at 7 children who I didn’t know and had no idea when she would be back. The kids sweetly offered to play in the pool for a while, until lunch. It was 10am. So they did, and they were very well behaved. Their cook – yep, I know – made lunch for them. For them only. I sat at the table and tried not to drool as I wondered if the cook perhaps hated nannies? Until the oldest kid said, “How come you didn’t bring a lunch? Our teachers and nannies always do.” Because I didn’t know. That’s why.

   By 2pm I was dying. The cook was gone and I was tempted to sneak in there and grab something out of the fridge only:

1. The fridge doors were the same color as the wood walls so I couldn’t find it.


2. I was fairly sure they had security cameras. Not the best way to start a job.

   Finally the mom came home, and thanked me and took the kids downstairs. I had thought about being paid, but I guess she figured this one was on me. How nice. I enjoy watching children, especially 7 of them, for free on my days off with no food.

   I left seething. I no longer wanted to work for them, but wasn’t sure how to get out of it. The next day I was woken up at 6am by my phone with a strange number. I answered to this: “Hi, Diana? This is ‘C’, I’m one of the teachers for the – family. I was given your number so I could invite you to our Bible study this morning at 8. Would you like to come? All of us who work for the – family go to it.” I was SO mad by this point that it was all I could do to politely decline. The mom had given out my number to her staff, and told them to invite me to a Bible study. At 6am. And no one seemed to feel there was something wrong with that. I felt that perhaps my inclination that something was a little off was right.

   I had already told the house manager what I wanted to make in terms of a yearly salary. They low balled me when I was offered the job a few days later, along with saying I would get a half hour, unpaid lunch break each day. They lived in the hills. I couldn’t have made it out of the neighborhood in a half hour. Which meant I would have to eat lunch with the kids everyday and not be paid. But still be on duty – that’s how it works. So I counter offered, figuring perhaps I could tolerate them for the right price. That never works, btw. He called back and said they had “rescinded the offer and felt I wasn’t the best candidate.”

   I felt this huge sense of relief. It was over. I didn’t have to deal with them anymore. My agency was really pissed they had led me on, and used me for free babysitting, but I didn’t care.

   About two years later I was reading online on the huge fire that had happened in SoCal, and stumbled across their name in a story. I clicked on it and learned that their home had burned to the ground while they were traveling. The picture showed the 4 chimneys standing in a giant heap of ashes. 10,000 sq ft of ashes to be exact. Not including the guest home and garage. No one was hurt.

I figured if nothing else, they would have a really exciting bit to tell in their personal testimonies from now on.

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