A Work Rant

PREFACE: I love my job. If / when I blog or talk about work, 90% of the time it's all good things. I love the kids, they are the cutest. I also love that I can go home at night. Especially on days like today.

Today, between the hours of 4pm and 6pm, I was fired three times, called stupid, stupid head, stupid Sarah, poop-head, poopie-pants, poop-face, dumb-dumb, doh-doh, stink-brain-farty-poop-head-stupid-butt (creative yes...by the thirtieth insult, not so much), any repetition of word scrambles that could sound like insults, growled at, body slammed, yelled at and complained to non-stop by a six a half year old. It was a rough two hours. Is it wrong that I then took solace in the fact that when the date-night babysitter arrived and these things became aimed at her, I found myself sighing with relief and kind of enjoying passing the tortured torch to her? "Six P.M. have a nice night (giggle, giggle)!" There is comfort to be found in the suffering of other sitters. That's right, I said it.

Now back to my rant*....

First of all, who teaches / where is it picked up / how does a six and half year old know the words "You're fired" or "My parents will fire you" and can then explain the definition to his three and a half year old sibling?!?!?! Unacceptable. Sad. Wrong. Pitiful. Offensive. Flabbergasted. I felt all of the above. I don't know where he picked it up, but it is by far one of the most disgustingly rude things I think I've ever heard from a child. "You're Fired", "Shut-Up" and "Stupid" should not be acceptable household phrases. But if there's no punishment to fit the crime, what can ya do, right? That's the catch to this kid-rearing career; you can only discipline so much before it's out of your jurisdiction. Or, you're fired for reals.

Once, when I was doing a trial for a ridiculously rich family with ridiculously entitled snobby-little-brat children (really, I've never been so appalled) I remember the little girl matter-of-factly remarking that if at some point during my time with them she and her brother decided they didn't like me anymore they could just ask their parents to fire me. She wasn't saying she didn't like me (she did) nor was she being rude about it or suggesting anything, she was simply trying to help me learn how things worked by explaining to me that should I fail to meet her likable standards in the future, one click of her tongue is all it would take. I found this to be true when I asked her Mother what happened to the last nanny and she matter-of-factly told me the kids didn't like her anymore so they let her go. Needless to say I turned down their job offer that came a few days later. That's the only time I've ever heard a child express control over a person in such a way, and she was ten not six!

I swear my blood boiled today. Almost as much as the time I got spat in the face, only today it was a metaphorical spray that spanned the kitchen and completely shocked me. I just could not believe my ears. My retorting thoughts said, "Not if I quit first you little bugger." Quickly followed by, "If only I didn't love you so much and know what a truly nice boy you are. Please hurry up and eat your dinner so the nice boy hiding inside can come back and play." I swear if that kid doesn't get food in him in time, a ticking monster-bomb goes off and KA-BOOM!!! he's a terror.

He can be one tough terror. He's actually the most challenging (and with that the most rewarding) child I have ever worked with in my entire thirteen year career. Some days I really, really, REALLY miss the days of ADD / ADHD challenges with one of my past "charges" who was, in no uncertain terms, a tough case. Today I missed that kid. I miss him (and see him) often because of the bond we formed amid the struggles and fun we shared, but today I actually missed the struggles. The screaming, the cussing (I can understand a well placed, curse filled venting spree better than a shut-up you're fired spree--feels less personal I guess), the inability to sit and eat simultaneously (you think it's easy, but not when your brain is spouting off thirty other things you need to be doing and your body is uncontrollably following), the medications, the vacations from medications in order to adjust doses (words are null and void then, I basically communicated with a hand on the shoulder and a shove in the right direction--like away from oncoming traffic), the melt downs, and the power struggles (once I held the door shut for thirty minutes while he screamed at the top of his lungs and kicked the door--his Mom high-fived me and said I had a gift for consistency). And yet, the oldest of the two "charges" I have now is by far the hardest one I've ever had. A different kind of hard. A defiant, behavioral kind of hard. I like a challenge, and I like the rewards, but sometimes I just reach my wits end. We all do, in any job. Luckily I usually hit mine around five fifty five P.M. and I walk out the door at six. Phew!

Second of all, the complaining**. OH THE COMPLAINING. "My sandwich was peanut butter and jelly but that's not what I wanted. / School was bad, nothing fun happened: we had cupcakes but we only got one and I didn't get to pick first./ We had a farewell party for a girl moving away, but I don't really care if she's moving so it wasn't fun. / We didn't play the game I wanted to play in skills yard. I wanted to run and it was fast walking and I hate walking so it wasn't fun. / Nothing's fun. / Can we buy something? We never buy anything; I don't get anything new ever (this after Christmas one week ago and a house overflowing with toys). / I hate going to [insert class, sibling's class, park, or activity here]. / Why can't we get a smoothie every day? Why can't I have chips? Nothing's fun! / I'm bored. / I wanted to play with that toy first! (Taking interest in a toy he had never noticed until his sibling had it) / That's not fair! / Give me milk--dessert--dinner--treat--toy or I'll hit you in the leg (although I must say he is *awesome* at saying please, usually, so must've done something right!) / Pick up my back pack--kleenex--game--clothes, I don't want to. (But at least he does, knowing I won't)." And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. The Energizer Bunny would be proud. Complaints, demands, unsatisied comments about the state of his ever-so-rough life. You can see how it can begin to grate on my last nerve....

My poor boyfriend. After a day like that, by the time I get home from work at night if Tom complains about his shoes hurting or a paper cut, I fly off the handle with "IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY DON'T TALK TO ME FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT!!!"

It is so draining to hear complaints and put downs every other minute. Listening to someone complain and complain and complain and never be satisfied is the opposite of the bees knees. What would that be, the bees balls? A kick in the bees balls, I think. It's a kick in the bees balls to put up with whining, complaining, and grumbling.

Now, I'm not pointing blame or saying he's a bad kid or anything like that. I'm just ranting. His behavior is part of growing up and testing boundaries and becoming accustomed to certain expectations unless taught otherwise. We all complain. We all have off days. Especially kids. I know that. We all want to fire someone or call them a poopie-head at various times in our lives. It's just that kids do it A LOT, and when you're trying to teach them how to be upstanding citizens and to respect their peers, their elders, their siblings, their parents, and themselves, and it just isn't rubbing off as quickly as you'd like, well, bees balls people, bees balls. For me, this behavior is a work hazard I knowingly signed up for.

WARNING: This career path (or parenting path if you so choose to birth your own) may (read: definitely will) contain children who will complain and never say thank you for the next five years; brace yourself, and blog-rant if needed.

On the bright side, maybe, just maybe, after these years of hard work and manner training, the fruits of my labors (and yours too if you struggle with this) will reveal themselves in grown upstanding citizens after all! Here's hoping I'm alive to see it, poop face. Until then, I withstand! I withstand those moments when he gets what he asks for, and then complains that there's something wrong with when / how / or what he got. I withstand when I take him out for a fun activity and he comes home complaining that he only got to stay for an hour, not three. I withstand the name calling and empty threats stemming from an empty belly. I withstand that there's just no break from the complaining or end to the teasing until they forget or get over it or learn to see the bright side. I withstand it all over again when the younger one hits this phase in a short few months. (The F-ing Fours are on the horizon yet again... Dun. Dun. Dun.) I chant "it could be worse" like it's my own personal serenity prayer. Because it really could be much worse.

Luckily, during those other minutes (because remember, it's only every other minute I have to withstand), there are the most wonderful moments, too. Really sweet, rewarding, memorable moments that make it worth it (after I've had a twelve hour break to remember them all--oh motherhood, I feel 1/2 your pain and fear I may crumble when it's my turn to bear it all). I remember, remember, the encouragement, smiles, jokes, laughter, artwork, homemade ceramic cups, game playing and creating, wrestling, being taught instead of teaching, reading stories, singing songs, wiggling teeth, nicknaming teeth, having tickle fights, witnessing milestones, etc. I must remember, oh remember, that there are worse things than poo-spouting name calling. Sticks and stones. Rubber and glue. It's all about the offsets. Today there just wasn't an offset. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow! I don't know what was up, but today was hard knock, with no rest for the Nanny.

*: A rant is a speech or text that does not present a calm argument; rather it is typically an enthusiastic speech or talk or lecture on an idea, a person or an institution. Rants can be based on partial fact or may be entirely factual but written in a comedic/satirical form.
**: Complaining is to express feelings of pain, dissatisfaction, or resentment. To make a formal accusation or bring a formal charge. The act of dwelling on the negative. The more you complain, the more you summon your creative energies to attract something to complain about.