Look for me in suburbia

Well, it's been a while. My new life in suburbia is apparently a full-time job. Let me start with the family home and the two kids, a boy and a girl. No, they're not mine, thank god, but they are cute. I guess they've grown on me. And they are a full-time job-40+ hours a week, which is good because I can temporarily stop looking for jobs, but not so good because I don't want to be a full-time mom, even though I'm labeled as a nanny. It's weird because, as a nanny, I am responsible for so much of the discipline of the children and also to play with them on their level, to teach them and to take them places. At the same time, I do not have the same bond with them as their parents', and I even worry about whether they like me. I never thought I'd say this, but I catch myself not only wondering, but worrying whether the 5-year old girl thinks I'm mean.

A few years ago, I babysat two two-year old boys on the weekends. I felt closer to those two boys than I do to the current children for a couple of reasons. First, they were both boys and for whatever reason I relate more to boy children than girl children. Coincidentally I took a six-question quiz in "Chicago Parent" magazine (at the kids' house) today that supposedly answered the question of what gender I would be a better parent for, because apparently, I guess these days you can choose. Riiight. Anyway, the most ridiculous part of the quiz was that, no matter what you answer, the quiz states that you're actually a great parent for either gender. Hmm. So, I analyzed the question myself during the kids' nap time. One of the reasons, as I spoke of before, is that I relate to the way boys deal with problems: being physical rather than emotional, yelling rather than crying, pointing blame rather than taking responsibility/compromising. I guess the other reason why I related to the two boys is that they had dark hair. I know this sounds crazy, but when you're a babysitter/nanny, there is something that happens when you go out in public when you say to yourself, "Do people think this is my kid?" or "Am I even old enough to have a kid?" Now when the kid(s) have light blonde hair and I have black hair, the chances of them being my kids is pretty slim. Although a nice older woman on the street the other day told me I had a beautiful child. I nodded with a smile, but uncomfortably, and as if I was taking credit for something I didn't create. Oh well, I guess people will believe whatever they want.

On an unrelated note, but sticking with my suburban theme, I baked cupcakes this weekend. The cupcake tin was my first piece of bakeware that I have purchased, well, ever. Pumpkin-chocolate-chip cupcakes with creamcheese (one word?) frosting and cinnamon icing. A little underdone, but you can't tell that from the picture.