Nanny For A Day
One of my best friends from New York teaches 2nd Grade in Elementary School. For the non-Americans, this is roughly equivalent to 2nd year in Primary School, or generally speaking, 8-year-olds. After this past Saturday, I humbly pay homage to all teachers, caretakers, mommies and daddies and any other assorted nanny-types that care for these little terrors. I can acknowledge this now because I had to watch over several 8-year-olds on Saturday.
After a grueling few weeks overseas on a work assignment, a cramped and uncomfortable flight and only two hours of sleep, I woke up on Saturday morning all prepared for a day of laziness and relaxation. Then I remembered that I had promised to take my 8-year-old cousin out to her school’s Family Day. This year’s event was organized on the beautiful Shek-O beach on the northeastern coast of Hong Kong Island.
The day started off on an odd note as I climbed aboard the school bus picking us up from the meeting point. The last time I stepped into one was when I was – well, in school. The first wave of childish squeals and overexuberance about a rare field trip was refreshing – boundless childish energy and the promise of youthful frolicking was infectious. The kids started talking to me –
- Hey, are you a cousin? You don’t look like a parent.
- Why is there a tiger on your back? (I have a tattoo)
- Are you going to swim?
- Do you like the teachers?
- What’s in your bag? Can I open this thing that says “MP3”?
These kids were more thorough than custom inspectors! Between touching the tiger tattoo on the back of my shoulder, rummaging through my purse, pulling on my hair, sitting on my lap and screaming in my ears, I was tired even before we got to the beach.
As much as the bus was already an alternate universe filled with Barbies and Blu's Clues and Pokemon, the beach was pandemonium. Kids and parents were running wild -- the children screaming and chasing after each other’s friends, the parents screaming and chasing after the kids. Teachers were vainly trying to keep things organized, holding out programs with futile effort. The administrator held responsible for dispensing snack kits to the children gave up counting several hours ago – those little grubby hands reaching for the chocolate bars were no longer distinguishable from each other, each round face or mischievous grin had started to blend in with the next.
I kept my eye on my cousin’s black and neon pink suit – if all else fails, look out for the one that’s dressed like a walking traffic-light. She made a bee-line for her best friends – six other 7- and 8-year old girls, their colorful bathing suits and sand toys at the ready.
A bit of calm (well, sort of) descended when the teacher’s shrill whistle sounded the beginning of water games. Sigh, I finally get to sit down on the sand and read a book while the kids madly run around forming teams of boys against girls. I smiled to myself as the chanting refrain grew in volume – “Boys Beat Girls!” “Girls Beat Boys!”
The weather was sunny but not too hot, breezy but not too windy, perfect for a day on the beach. The beach blanket beckoned, the lounging chair looked too empty without a lazy butt like mine sitting in it. I dragged the bag of kids’ gear towards the chair with every single cell of my being yearning for a little peace and quiet, to sleep off my jet-lag. Surely the kids were in good hands with the teachers they spend 5 days out of a week with?
Oh no. Teachers were taking their revenge – for this one day, the parents must get a taste of what they deal with during the week. Parents were called in to supervise, take pictures, coach, lead cheers, become audience, and generally take part in the games. Looking around at the parents standing at the ready with their video cameras and shouting attack strategies at their young with water bombs in hand, I thought it may be a good time to take some pictures.
*SPLASH* and a water bomb hit me in the crotch. I looked like I peed myself. Oh well, I think, I’m going into the sea anyway and the sun will dry this. *SPLAT* another water bomb hit me on the chest and my camera was wet. A quick dry saved it, but that reminded me to start taking snaps of my cousin at play in case 20 years from now, she forgets that she was once part of this exciting day in her life.
What force! Such aggression! Younger and smaller kids were taking revenge on the bigger ones with water bombs that zip with incredible precision. Older kids that ran out of water bombs started flinging sand. The kindergarteners who had no idea what to do were entranced by squirts of water from a damaged “weapon”.
The kids ran around, circling, doubling-back, no particular direction except looking for an exposed back to fling a wet plastic bag at. They milled around and bumped into each other like so many electrons in an atom, bouncing off each other into the other direction, searching for the next target. I bet from a birds’-eye view, this would have looked like chaos theory in effect.
The games ended with the inevitable kid with a scratch on his knee, the crybaby who bawled when his water bomb burst without even being flung at someone, the parent who bumped into another parent and started a video cam row. My cousin started to look bored so I thought it was time to take charge and I shepherded her out to the surf.
To all parents/nannies/caretakers/domestic engineers out there, how many ways can you play on the surf? Over the next few hours, in between slathering on sunblock on pink baby-cheeks in case an irate parent accused me of encouraging melanoma, we came up with:
1. Who can jump the highest over the next breaking wave?
2. Who can jump the fastest over the next breaking wave?
3. Who can jump like their favorite animal over the next breaking wave?
4. Who can stand still against the next breaking wave?
5. Who can push their butt up against the next breaking wave?
6. Who can use their arms to block the next breaking wave?
All this was done in knee deep water, my back burning from the sun and my brain running out of ideas. In between, I was keeping up a running commentary on why waves were not scary, why seashells were broken, why there was sand in our bathing suits, and why I have a tiger on my back.
Disney, I thought. When all else fails, think Disney. Beach – Water – Sea – Mermaid! Inspiration strikes and I seat everyone down on the sand.
So kids, what do mermaids have?
Tails! Fins! Red Hair! Boobies! {Who said that? Who said Boobies? Where’s your mother?}
So make your legs like a mermaid’s tail… and what does she do when a wave comes?
She swims! {And a 7-year old without floaties promptly makes off towards deeper water. I grab her and am silently thankful her mother is gossiping with another mother}
Well, when she is sitting on the beach, does she flap her tail when the waves come in?
Yes!
Okay then! So what mermaid names will you give yourselves?
Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel!
Okay then! You are all little Ariels! Ready? Here comes one… everyone FLAP!
And I get sandy water splashed in my mouth, nose, eyes…. Oh well. The kids were having fun. But I was getting exhausted from chasing down the ones that get distracted by a little sand crab. From stopping the bold ones who pointedly ignored my direction that “no one goes further than me into the water”. Consoling the sensitive one who cried when her “mermaid tail” couldn’t flap fast enough. Assuring the fussy one that of course I named her Ariel first before the others. Cajoling the quiet one to play along with everyone else. Ignoring the questions from the curious one about why I have a tiger on my back. Smiling reassuringly to the parents on their lounging chairs to show that I had their kids under control.
The shrill whistle went off again. A teacher triumphantly announced the end of Family Day, will all children and their parents please make their way to the local restaurant for lunch. Mention Family Day and you’ll get a 10% discount off your bill!
In a vacuum rush the beach emptied and I was left standing alone by the surf, dripping wet, back sunburnt, throat hoarse from shouting over the din, bathing suit full of sand, arms tired from hauling kids back from the deep water, face numb from keeping a smile plastered on. I watched the little munchkins swarm around their parents and teachers, jumping up and down for their goodies, their parents like immovable mountains of discipline and patience, calm among the storm.
So to the teachers/parents/ nannies/other assorted caretaker types: kudos to you, and I kowtow until my forehead touches the floor. You deal with these little terrors every day and still keep it up, I had them for 6 hours and at the end I wanted to string them up by their toes. Thank you for keeping the faith, and finding at the bottom of your personal barrel that extra ration of patience and love that keeps this going for the rest of your child’s life.
I still haven’t told those kids why there is a tiger on my back.
P.S. I had packed an MP3 player and climbing shoes in the vain hope of bouldering at Shek-O, but that hope vanished when I became the mermaid coach.
After a grueling few weeks overseas on a work assignment, a cramped and uncomfortable flight and only two hours of sleep, I woke up on Saturday morning all prepared for a day of laziness and relaxation. Then I remembered that I had promised to take my 8-year-old cousin out to her school’s Family Day. This year’s event was organized on the beautiful Shek-O beach on the northeastern coast of Hong Kong Island.
The day started off on an odd note as I climbed aboard the school bus picking us up from the meeting point. The last time I stepped into one was when I was – well, in school. The first wave of childish squeals and overexuberance about a rare field trip was refreshing – boundless childish energy and the promise of youthful frolicking was infectious. The kids started talking to me –
- Hey, are you a cousin? You don’t look like a parent.
- Why is there a tiger on your back? (I have a tattoo)
- Are you going to swim?
- Do you like the teachers?
- What’s in your bag? Can I open this thing that says “MP3”?
These kids were more thorough than custom inspectors! Between touching the tiger tattoo on the back of my shoulder, rummaging through my purse, pulling on my hair, sitting on my lap and screaming in my ears, I was tired even before we got to the beach.
As much as the bus was already an alternate universe filled with Barbies and Blu's Clues and Pokemon, the beach was pandemonium. Kids and parents were running wild -- the children screaming and chasing after each other’s friends, the parents screaming and chasing after the kids. Teachers were vainly trying to keep things organized, holding out programs with futile effort. The administrator held responsible for dispensing snack kits to the children gave up counting several hours ago – those little grubby hands reaching for the chocolate bars were no longer distinguishable from each other, each round face or mischievous grin had started to blend in with the next.
I kept my eye on my cousin’s black and neon pink suit – if all else fails, look out for the one that’s dressed like a walking traffic-light. She made a bee-line for her best friends – six other 7- and 8-year old girls, their colorful bathing suits and sand toys at the ready.
A bit of calm (well, sort of) descended when the teacher’s shrill whistle sounded the beginning of water games. Sigh, I finally get to sit down on the sand and read a book while the kids madly run around forming teams of boys against girls. I smiled to myself as the chanting refrain grew in volume – “Boys Beat Girls!” “Girls Beat Boys!”
The weather was sunny but not too hot, breezy but not too windy, perfect for a day on the beach. The beach blanket beckoned, the lounging chair looked too empty without a lazy butt like mine sitting in it. I dragged the bag of kids’ gear towards the chair with every single cell of my being yearning for a little peace and quiet, to sleep off my jet-lag. Surely the kids were in good hands with the teachers they spend 5 days out of a week with?
Oh no. Teachers were taking their revenge – for this one day, the parents must get a taste of what they deal with during the week. Parents were called in to supervise, take pictures, coach, lead cheers, become audience, and generally take part in the games. Looking around at the parents standing at the ready with their video cameras and shouting attack strategies at their young with water bombs in hand, I thought it may be a good time to take some pictures.
*SPLASH* and a water bomb hit me in the crotch. I looked like I peed myself. Oh well, I think, I’m going into the sea anyway and the sun will dry this. *SPLAT* another water bomb hit me on the chest and my camera was wet. A quick dry saved it, but that reminded me to start taking snaps of my cousin at play in case 20 years from now, she forgets that she was once part of this exciting day in her life.
What force! Such aggression! Younger and smaller kids were taking revenge on the bigger ones with water bombs that zip with incredible precision. Older kids that ran out of water bombs started flinging sand. The kindergarteners who had no idea what to do were entranced by squirts of water from a damaged “weapon”.
The kids ran around, circling, doubling-back, no particular direction except looking for an exposed back to fling a wet plastic bag at. They milled around and bumped into each other like so many electrons in an atom, bouncing off each other into the other direction, searching for the next target. I bet from a birds’-eye view, this would have looked like chaos theory in effect.
The games ended with the inevitable kid with a scratch on his knee, the crybaby who bawled when his water bomb burst without even being flung at someone, the parent who bumped into another parent and started a video cam row. My cousin started to look bored so I thought it was time to take charge and I shepherded her out to the surf.
To all parents/nannies/caretakers/domestic engineers out there, how many ways can you play on the surf? Over the next few hours, in between slathering on sunblock on pink baby-cheeks in case an irate parent accused me of encouraging melanoma, we came up with:
1. Who can jump the highest over the next breaking wave?
2. Who can jump the fastest over the next breaking wave?
3. Who can jump like their favorite animal over the next breaking wave?
4. Who can stand still against the next breaking wave?
5. Who can push their butt up against the next breaking wave?
6. Who can use their arms to block the next breaking wave?
All this was done in knee deep water, my back burning from the sun and my brain running out of ideas. In between, I was keeping up a running commentary on why waves were not scary, why seashells were broken, why there was sand in our bathing suits, and why I have a tiger on my back.
Disney, I thought. When all else fails, think Disney. Beach – Water – Sea – Mermaid! Inspiration strikes and I seat everyone down on the sand.
So kids, what do mermaids have?
Tails! Fins! Red Hair! Boobies! {Who said that? Who said Boobies? Where’s your mother?}
So make your legs like a mermaid’s tail… and what does she do when a wave comes?
She swims! {And a 7-year old without floaties promptly makes off towards deeper water. I grab her and am silently thankful her mother is gossiping with another mother}
Well, when she is sitting on the beach, does she flap her tail when the waves come in?
Yes!
Okay then! So what mermaid names will you give yourselves?
Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel! Ariel!
Okay then! You are all little Ariels! Ready? Here comes one… everyone FLAP!
And I get sandy water splashed in my mouth, nose, eyes…. Oh well. The kids were having fun. But I was getting exhausted from chasing down the ones that get distracted by a little sand crab. From stopping the bold ones who pointedly ignored my direction that “no one goes further than me into the water”. Consoling the sensitive one who cried when her “mermaid tail” couldn’t flap fast enough. Assuring the fussy one that of course I named her Ariel first before the others. Cajoling the quiet one to play along with everyone else. Ignoring the questions from the curious one about why I have a tiger on my back. Smiling reassuringly to the parents on their lounging chairs to show that I had their kids under control.
The shrill whistle went off again. A teacher triumphantly announced the end of Family Day, will all children and their parents please make their way to the local restaurant for lunch. Mention Family Day and you’ll get a 10% discount off your bill!
In a vacuum rush the beach emptied and I was left standing alone by the surf, dripping wet, back sunburnt, throat hoarse from shouting over the din, bathing suit full of sand, arms tired from hauling kids back from the deep water, face numb from keeping a smile plastered on. I watched the little munchkins swarm around their parents and teachers, jumping up and down for their goodies, their parents like immovable mountains of discipline and patience, calm among the storm.
So to the teachers/parents/ nannies/other assorted caretaker types: kudos to you, and I kowtow until my forehead touches the floor. You deal with these little terrors every day and still keep it up, I had them for 6 hours and at the end I wanted to string them up by their toes. Thank you for keeping the faith, and finding at the bottom of your personal barrel that extra ration of patience and love that keeps this going for the rest of your child’s life.
I still haven’t told those kids why there is a tiger on my back.
P.S. I had packed an MP3 player and climbing shoes in the vain hope of bouldering at Shek-O, but that hope vanished when I became the mermaid coach.
posted by tygertyger at 1:48 AM
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