Tuesday, April 20, 2010
My days are numbered in France. My kids remind me of this nearly every day, and with this we like to imagine our lives after I leave. We are always coming up with some cockamamie scenario that would scare the new nanny. For example, we plan to take pictures of the boys having me in a choke hold, one giving me a noogie, the other perfecting the wedgie, and then sending these pictures to the new nanny with the caption
. The following picture will be me holding Cléments head under water, his arms flailing wildly, with the caption . A few tips for the new nanny: If either have their sassy pants on, offer up a knuckle sandwich. If Clément is naked-dancing in front of open windows, close the shades. If Thibault says he brushed his teeth, he didn't. Also, let it be known that the Nanny Cave is just a myth. Thibault does NOT have a closet in the garage filled with past nannies that "tried to escape." In addition, if you find Thibault is responding to his Christian name, try Robofart. And Clément's equally deserved nickname: Thunderpants. When the nicknames begin to take on strong personalities of their own, I've had to lay some ground rules like, no ripping in the kitchen, the car on a cold day or any enclosed spaces. If it's absolutely necessary that you rip, a head's up is immensely appreciated. This will come in one of two emphatic exclamations: Incoming! or 3, 2, 1...! And because they're really sweet at heart, they'll always apologize afterward. Consequently, this is rumored to be a contributing factor to the large population within the alleged Nanny Cave. I know that I have a great time with them because my humor has never progressed beyond that of a 12 year-old boy. I just hope the next is just as, if not more, immature.