What's The Hurry?

     Page Seventy-Five.
     I baby-sat a lot as a teenager, for a variety of ages and genders. I was a live-in nanny to two pre-school girls for one and a half years while in my twenties. Then, I was a live-in nanny to three teenaged boys for eight years, also while in my twenties and early thirties. Fast forward fourteen years. Six years ago I nannied two early-teenaged girls for a year. Five years ago I nannied two other mid-teen girls for a year and a half. Four years ago I started nannying two preteen boys for the next couple of years and two and a half years ago, I began nannying a family with four kids: a girl who's now away at college and three boys who are entering their teen and preteen years. (And, just a reminder: I'm a boy.)
     Nobody's ever asked me, but if an average, American parent ever requested just one suggestion on parenting, I'd say: "don't be in a hurry for your kids to grow up".
     Savor the crazy, dysfunctional, overly energetic times which comprise your child's early years. Enjoy the noise and the fighting. Appreciate the fun of watching your children pretend they're playing on Mars. Because, one of these days those kids will be grown and gone. There'll be no more noise and running and playing. Many, not all, but many parents miss that.
     As the youngest of your kids drives off to her first year of college, a part of you goes with her. The part that got to teach her about manners and charity. The part that soothed her knee and kissed her after she fell off the jungle gym. The part that scolded her after she lied about doing her homework. Now, as she drives off, you're left with two things: all those memories and all the worry in the world that she'll be safe and sound. You can't take care of her anymore. When she was little you could. Her concerns and fears were so simple, like falling off a jungle gym. Now, you can only pray that she's secure, happy and that the values you attempted to instill in her actual took hold.
     In the mid-nineties, a small book was written called, "Life's Little Instruction Book". It was a series of suggestions and thoughts that a father wrote for his his college bound son. One of the thoughts was, "right now your mother misses you". That's so true and kids and young parents don't realize it until it's too late. Kids can't be blamed for not realizing how much their parents miss them. And young parents tend to be oblivious to how fast the time will really go by. Of course this is human nature. The brain simply can't grasp all that can happen over the course of a future eighteen years. And eighteen years seems so far away anyhow.
     But most children really will grow up and move out. And from birth to college there'll be many fights and disappointments and dramas and poor grades and romantic break-ups and shocks and unsavory friends and poor decisions and sarcasm and unappetizing table manners and experimentation with chemicals and disagreements galore. But there will also be unbounded joy. One of the greatest gifts that humans have is the gift of gratitude. As long as we are grateful for the many joyous moments of our childrens' early years and and then commit those moments to memory we will be blessed.
     Until the grand-kids show up, there will be no more pillow fights. There will be no more jumping on the bed (and breaking it). There will be no more lemonade stands. There will be no more indoor forts. There will just be peace and quiet. It's not all it's cracked up to be.   

Missing Your Children

     Page Twenty-Five.
     Do you want to know one thing they don't warn you about prior to becoming a parent (or surrogate parent)? You'll end up caring almost as much for your kid's friends as for your own kids.While living with and taking care of the Shapiro boys I came to care for many of their friends deeply. I've already mentioned Spanky. There were, of course, many more. I found out last month that another friend whom I saw frequently, Eliza, was pregnant. I heard this news through the grapevine.
     To hear news of weddings, births and new jobs of your kids' childhood friends is glorious, it really is. It's also bittersweet. It just re-enforces the life cycle. Believe me, I know the life cycle. I take care of many old people in addition to the childcare I provide.
     You know what? Today's blog is rambling. I started out writing about children's friends and now I'm talking about the life cycle of the human being. Perhaps I'm in a mood. Watching children grow up and move away is depressing as hell. It just is. When the Shapiro boys come home and then leave, I have deep psychological difficulties. I've also told the Queen Mother (mom of the three princes and one princess whom I currently nanny ) that she really needs to savor all the time she has with her kids now 'cause one day in twenty years she's going to look back and cry, wishing they were little again. With all their fights, with all their screaming and yelling, with all their tantrums and foot stomping, in twenty years those memories are going to bring tears. At least they will for me. Yeah! I'm so lucky.
     Love your kids while you have 'em. Love your children's friends while they're around. They grow up so fast, it leaves your head spinning like a roller coaster, wondering... when did they enter middle school? Five minutes ago they were in Kindergarten. Before you know it they're away at college. It really does happen that fast.
     I was very lucky, I became really good friends with the Shapiro boys. This, in spite of that darned teenaged era. I basically lived with very good friends for those eight years. Perhaps that's one reason I miss them so much. Because I don't know how it's going to play out with the princes, I really chose to just value my time with them like it's my lasts moments on earth. If, hypothetically, I end up nannying them until Fauntleroy graduates from Shaker Heights High in 2023, I'll have that many more memories to be grateful for.
     A friend recently asked if I ever missed having children. Was she kidding? All the parental energies that could possibly have dammed up in my male system never even had a chance. Not a single molecule of unspent parental desire exists in me. I became a live-in nanny at age twenty for crying out loud. Then I continued off and on (mostly on) until age thirty-one. More recently, I was asked to get back into nannying at age forty-six. And the potential exists for me to continue until age sixty-two (depending upon what my future holds). That's a million years of memories and worries and concern and joys and jubilations... all about children: children whom I've been deeply involved with.
    And time with kids really does go that fast. I know this. Value the seconds, even the rough ones. In fact, twenty years later, it's the rough ones make the best Thanksgiving Day stories.
     I think some future blog will be about the fact that I'm not a normal nanny. And parents and bystanders have noticed this. I don't actually even stop and acknowledge the term baby-sitter. I go straight to "Foster Parent", without passing Go, without collecting $200.00. But really, that's for another time.     
     (My God, today's blog was aimless. Oh, well.)    

Ace Ventura Pet Detective

     Page Twenty-Three.
     It must have been 1995 when others first told me that I should be canonized.
     On page twenty-two of this blog, I mentioned that I recently gave a haircut to a very young lady after giving her grandmother and aunt haircuts first. Here's another story about that family.
     I met them in 1986 as hairdresser. The story of how we met is great but that's for another time. By the early 90's they referred to me as a family friend. (Today they refer to me as a close family friend.) At the time, Mom stayed home to watch the kids and Dad was a doc, a rather famous researcher actually.Well, in early '95 Dad was invited to give a speech in Washington D.C. and Mom wanted to go too. This would be the first time that they'd leave the girls alone. Lisa was fifteen and Ann was twelve. (Lisa is the mom of the young lady who's hair I cut and talked about on page twenty-two.) They asked me if I would move in and watch the girls over this long weekend. I was thrilled as I really liked these young ladies and the money would be great.
     The weekend was primarily uneventful, a score you always hope for when leaving your kids with a nanny. (Now-a-days, I do a ton of overnight house-sitting, dog-sitting, cat-sitting and elder-sitting. When I receive the phone calls asking "How's it going" I usually respond, "It's quiet and a little boring, a response you want to hear.") Anyhow, it was a little boring in spite of the fact that I enjoyed these girls. Saturday night, Ann convinced me to rent Ace Ventura-Pet Detective. Lisa had a girl friend over and they didn't join us. So Ann and I popped the corn and watched this movie. Just so you know, my movie taste runs closer to Fellini, Bergman, Godard and Lang. But with God as my witness, I sat through that movie for the sake of this twelve year old girl. Admittedly, I think I even laughed a few times. But Ann was highly entertained which is the most important thing.
    When Parents came home and got caught up to speed on the proceedings, they told me that neither of them was willing to sit through that movie. They knew my cinema taste was close to theirs and they mentioned that I really should be sainted. 
     Lisa and her husband now teach English in South America and Ann is a chemist in NYC. I usually see them when they come home. At least once every couple of years some player reminds everybody else of the time that I sat through that movie. Oy!
     
    

Spanky

     Page Fifteen.
     The Shapiro twins, Scoot and Skedaddle, had a best friend, Spanky, who lived down the street. Spanky was a darling blonde boy who may as well have been a fourth son in our house for all the time he spent over. Spanky had an older brother whom I really didn't know but his parents and I were quite friendly.
     When Spanky and the twins were in about the tenth or eleventh grade I received a phone call from his mom. "Jeremy, would you consider staying with Spanky for a couple of weeks, next month, while we go away on a trip?" Seems that Stephanie had already called Lena Shapiro to make sure it would be okay to steal me for a couple of weeks. They'd agreed that I could sleep over Spanky's and tuck him into bed at night no problemo. The only complications on the Shapiro end would be when I had to do my usual things back at their ranch: the family laundry and light house-keeping, both of which they felt could be done anytime during the day; and feeding the boys on Mondays and Thursdays which I could do as usual and simply tow Spanky along.
     Stephanie further explained that I was the "compromise." Spanky didn't think he needed any old, stupid babysitter as he was 16 or 17 years old. Parents disagreed. Gee, I wonder why? So in the middle of the ensuing fight, my name somehow came up as being a possibility. I was a responsible adult(!?!?), which made Parents happy but yet I was somebody whom Spanky was quite fond of and whom he knew he could have fun with. After we made all the arrangements, I realized how much I'd enjoy the extra cash.
     It was a very pleasant two weeks. I'd never been in so many sections of their home before and marveled at their furnishings, art and decor. I also got paid to eat their food and watch their TV. Spanky and I had some quality time together which I still remember fondly. My only boo-boo was on a Sunday afternoon.
     We'd agreed that this particular Sunday would be date night and we planned to go out to a buffet place and chow down. Well, this would be when I'd learn that Mother's Day is the busiest restaurant day of the year. I simply didn't know. We went to a variety of joints only to be told of the 90 minute waits in each. Neither of us were up for that so I cooked and we went out another night before my stay was over.
     Actually, I'll guess we're talking spring of '91 here. So the boys would all have been finishing the tenth grade. I haven't seen Spanky since Scoot's wedding (2006?) But we're friends on Facebook. He's an elementary school teacher now and has a wife and a couple of kids. I think he's very happy. Stephanie and Mick sold the house after he graduated and built something new and contemporary way out east in Aurora, Ohio. I was invited there once for dinner and a tour. Then they sold that and retired to Nantucket. They'd always had a second home there for summertime. But they sold that and bought a compound where they now live year 'round. They were an exceedingly pleasant and charming family. 

My First Caviar

     Page Eleven.
     I've been doing odd jobs since before I was born. I'm sure in one of my last lives I was a general contractor. In another past life I was a fix-it man like Emmett from the Andy Griffith Show. I also had to have been a bartender, a caterer, Doctor Doolittle, Florence Nightingale and Mary Poppins.
     The name Jeremy Gutow began floating around Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights by the early-mid 80's as a soul who'd do anything for money. One day in November of 1987, I think, I received a phone call from a couple who lived a few blocks away. I don't remember from whom they got my name, it could have been a bathroom wall for all I know. They were having a Christmas party in a few weeks and wanted to hire me to be the party help. I'd keep the place tidy, help with the bar, stock the chips, keep the fireplace going - all the usual things. Ho hum... what a challenge. "Sure," I said.
     The husband picked me up in his BMW at the scheduled time and we drove the 5-6 blocks to the very gracious home which was slightly modest by Cleveland Heights standards. I met his wife, both were youngish and attractive. I don't remember now what they did professionally. No children.
     Let me back up slightly, I over-scheduled myself that day. I didn't have time to eat dinner and went to the party starving to death. That's a no-no, especially when talking about my appetite. My appetite is a book unto itself, a simple blog could not do it justice. And my appetite during the '80's was just over the top. I've since learned to manage it to a certain degree, though it's still rough. I've never been heavy though. Only since about 2005 have I begun filling out. I was positively skinny for my first four and a half decades. But brother did I eat. So I go to this party, where I'm the "help," starving to death.
     As they were showing me around, I noticed a large bowl that had a black mountain in it. I kid you not, they shipped Mt. Everest into their dining room and placed it in a bowl. I inquired, (I couldn't help myself.) "That's our caviar for the party. Please try some."
     I PROMISE YOU, THEY TOLD ME I COULD HAVE SOME!!! really, they did. So I had some, and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more. But then, I stopped. By the time the party was over, I probably ate half the mountain. They otherwise seemed please with my job, paid me and drove me back home. But they never called me back to help them again. Don't know why, just can't imagine.
     That was my first time eating caviar. Boy does that stuff go down easy. Whew, it's good.
     I've only made that mistake once. Never again did I go to a party starving, even a party where I was a guest. I'll go hungry, but I avoid arriving ravenous. I'm too rude when I'm hungry. Oy!
     Nowadays, when I'm offered the occasional help job, I'm considered extremely good at being the help. (I better be good, it's about sixteen notches beneath my current professional level.) I will munch while working too. I know that's considered somewhat unprofessional, but I figure anybody who hires me has already heard about my work habits and appetite so they know what to expect. It's almost like I'd be disappointing them if I didn't munch. Plus the fact, everybody knows I'm a private chef, so they all want me to sample their wares anyhow. It works out. But I'll NEVER forget that mountain of caviar, really, I won't. It was sooooooo good. 

Tater Tots

     Page Seven.
     What would the current world situation be if not for the invention of Tater Tots? I think that Tater Tots have much more to do with the current global economy, the split of the two Koreas and Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby" than we may realize.
     Taters were invented in the early 1950's and gradually gained in popularity until they became a pop culture staple by about the 70's or so. I ate my first one while in my twenties as my family did frozen french fries but not frozen tots. I prepared my first batch while being a live-in Nanny for the Shapiro boys, then I subsequently ate said Tot. They are one of the tastier imitation foods out there, I will admit. And as far as it goes, there isn't TOO much plastic involved in their production, it could be far worse.
     I first heard about the "Tot Casserole" in 2005 while at a convention for Activities Professionals. Some women at my table were talking about different versions of the casserole and I was stunned by the concept. Brown some ground beef and dump it in a casserole. Then pour on some Cream of Anything soup. Then pour on a bag of Tots. Finally, slice up some Velveeta and lay that on top. Shove the whole mess in the oven and bake till dead. This concept goes against everything I stand for as a private chef. Now honestly, I LOVE white trash food, I really do, and I recognize its necessary place in the world, but the Tot Casserole doesn't even sound good. Perhaps it's just me.
     While out with friends the other night, we ended up at a nice bar/restaurant here in Cleveland Heights, the rather sophisticated Cleveland suburb in which I reside. On the menu, this place has Tater Tots listed as their potato accompaniment instead of fries. They actually used the words Tater Tots which I'm positive are trademarked. I simply couldn't believe that. Upon research I discovered that some fast food joints also serve the Tot, but this was no fast food spot. So this place actually cooks a handful of real Tots and then charges five bucks for it; they make no false claims that these things are anything other than Tots which in the store are $3.59 a bag. What a fabulous way to get rich.
     We all know that Napoleon Dynamite is a fan of the tot. but he doesn't like them mashed.
     At a personal chef job I once had, I was occasionally asked to make real, home-made Tater Tots, as in: from scratch. They were the types of things my great grandmother might recognize as food, and they were pretty good too. They were a little bit of a hassle and slightly time consuming to prepare but they were quite tasty and well worth the time. (Actually, they were scrumpdelicious.) When I saw the restaurant menu the other day, I was expecting this to be the fare offered, but no. Real live honest to God Tots were on the plates. Whatever.
     So you see my friends, the evidence suggests that indeed Tater Tots are in fact partially responsible for Vanilla Ice's rise and fall. Nasa is still trying to discover if Tots have anything to do with Black Holes and Quasars.

I Was A Male Nanny!

     Page Six.
     Boy were they surprised! The Van Myms I mean. When they posted their room available in exchange for child-care I'm sure it didn't occur to them at all that a male would inquire.
     When I was very young and then again, during my teen years, my parents rented out spare bedrooms to get extra cash. We lived between two colleges, Case Western Reserve University and John Carroll University so we simply posted at the universities and subsequently had many students living with us. In the spring of 1982 when it was time for me to move out (age 20) I knew to check the colleges for off-campus living, a venue that most young people didn't know about. At Case I saw this posting for free living quarters and food in exchange for weekly Nanny care, once-a-week dinner prep and weekly laundry. I thought, "I can do that." And, I could. Trick was to convince this family in question. So, when she answered the phone and I explained who and what I was she said, "You? You're interested in being our live-in Nanny?"
     "Yes'm. Poor Little Ole' Me." As she recuperated from her initial shock and gave me the quick phone interview, she realized that I wasn't a novelty act. I'd been baby-sitting heavily since a young teen, I'd been cooking since age four and I'd been doing my own laundry since age seven. Nobody, but nobody, would make this stuff up. She explained that she and her husband both worked long hours, she was a pediatrician and he was an investment counselor and they had two daughters, ages three and six. The girls had a regular day-care but there were a couple of holes in the household that needed coverage: Friday night baby-sitting, family dinner on Wednesdays and never-ending laundry. The parents' work schedule simply couldn't maneuver around those chasms. "No problemo." I said. "Bring it on." 
     When I went to meet them some days later after they'd all gotten over their initial trepidation, she realized what a Jewish Mother I am. (She'd tell me that many months later.) Though the household was ultra-ULTRA-UUUUUULTRAAAAAA Protestant they knew the value of Jewish mothering. She also very quickly realized the value of non-traditional role models. (She'd tell me that many months later also.) So I moved in.
     About a month after moving in they took away my eating rights because they realized that my appetite would force them each to ask for raises. (Ahhhh... the Golden Days of my appetite. But that's a separate story.) At about the same time though, they let me start using their spare car on Saturday nights. So it was an even trade I thought. The situation would ultimately end up being mostly wonderful. It lasted until late summer of 1983 when they moved. When daughter #2 found out that I wouldn't be moving with them she cried and carried on. Also, a few times over the year and a half of my stay, daughters occasionally called me Daddy. That concerned the parents but they told me they preferred that response from their kids as opposed to the opposite. ("I don't have to listen to you. You're not my Daddy! I don't even like you!!!")
     Sadly, I haven't stayed in touch with them over the years. But Cleveland is a small town. I hear things. They'd eventually get divorced and Dad's now remarried with another child. Both daughters are well I think and Mom knows how to take care of herself. In fact, Mom is considered one of Cleveland's finest Pediatricians according to our local press. I'm incredibly grateful for the experience of being their live-in Nanny. It set me on a fantastic path.