26. FOLKS, WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH THIS BEHEMOTH. LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT HOW DISCOURAGING THAT SEEMS.
Ingredients
- 1 day off of school in NYC
- 1 Giant Sour Patch consumed by your babysitee at 10:15am, meaning you're off to a great start
- 1 celebrity businesswoman (and playdate mom) with a Park Ave. apartment full of bubble wrap strapped to the floor
- 4 exceedingly hyper 9-year-olds
- 1 "Come back at 1pm. I've got this."
*Note: As you're being slowly backed out of the apartment, you must contemplate rushing back in to use the bathroom. But you're already in the foyer with your shoes on and you don't want to poop-and-dash in a millionaire's apartment. So you don't. - An unexpected and idyllic late-morning walk across Central Park in its fall bounty
- A gorgeous plan to use your suddenly free 2.5 hours enjoying the new Broadway exhibit at the New York Performing Arts Library
*Note: You must sacrifice your need to poop in order to wait for this gosh-forsaken albeit classy library to open in a half hour, as if it's normal for libraries to open at noon on a Monday.
Actually, the entrance of this building is really unbecoming. - Veteran's Day = the libe's CLOSED
*Note: Mmm ok, HONESTLY you just wanted to poop, and you though it'd be a good two-fer to go to the Performing Arts library, too. However, you have now wasted 45 minutes of your day getting here and you still haven't pooped. - Starbucks
- 1 piece of accompanying reading for today's adventures: "The Nanny Diaries"
Alicia Keys is also in this movie?
Instructions
You know when you read or watch something long enough that you start to talk, think, or write in its "voice?" I used to dream spec episodes of "The Office," for example. Well, today has felt like an unwritten excerpt from my prime choice of reading for the last month: Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus's darkly accurate satire of New York nannying, "The Nanny Diaries."
Inspired deeply by these warrior women who poured their Upper East Side sippy-cup confessionals into a captivating piece of literature, I welcome you into one particular day in my babysitting life-- not because it's any more unusual or confusing than others, but because it isn't.
It started with a Fiber One Bar. (Doesn't it always?) Now, I know I needn't tell you why that's important; you've all read my ingredients. But the fact that I had to poop, seriously all day, is what makes this story universal.
Anyways.
The day also started with a mad dash to CVS, where, after being basically asleep for a month, I finally picked up my government-controlled substance stimulant prescription. I take this for my narcolepsy, aka to stay awake during the day. I don't take it to feel like I've drank a cup of coffee (which, for the non-caffeinated like myself, is like 3 cups of coffee) and a bottle of uppers. Regretfully, this is what happens when I haven't taken it in over 2 weeks. This is what happens on days like today.
SO. I'm Hyped up, gotta poop, and skatin' through Central Park on the phone with my dad, gabbin' like a giddy school girl gossiping to her BFF. I'm now sittin' outside the NYPA library, crossing my legs, bopping my foot, speedily playing with those addictive rubber tabs on the outer layer of my Otter Box, and waiting patiently (only due to my stimulant) for the library to open. Then, I'm briskly walking to the nearest Starbucks, the last place my stimulated body needs to be, where I march straight to the bathroom and proceed to drop my coat on the floor (ahk), but ALAS-- sweet charity.
I do not relax in the now 20 minutes I finally have at the Starbucks. I cannot. I have the strength of a million men in me and I somehow still have to poop. (I know.) Damn you, Fiber One. I think my heart is going to burst, partly from my medication and partly from the fear of being late to a celebrity millionaire's home after she's had 4 feisty children in her employ for 3 hours.
Here's a little lesson about New York City: You can leave on time, you can leave early, you can give yourself all the time in the world, but if you are planning on traveling from the West to the East side and then moving even remotely north or south, you will not be on time. I? Am not on time. These damn busses are the worst option always, leaving the only other option-- walking-- always a better option that no one takes. It's 12:56 and I'm 14 blocks and 2 avenues away, so I hop in a cab. I'm sweating and rushing in a cab to pick up a 9-year-old from a playdate on her day off of school. What is, why is, where will I ever find life?
Of course, I'm the first of the reliefs to arrive. Naturally. And the kids are lounging, eating pizza and drinking-- [INSERT SCREAM PAINTING FACE HERE]-- POP! SODA! SODA POP!
I've given up.
And this is after I learn that they've had a pie fight in Central Park.
Bubble wrap, pie fights, and pop. This woman is not only a savvy businesswoman-- she's a genius. And I still have to poop.
Thankfully, my charge (they say that in "The Nanny Diaries", and I hate/love it) has a doctor's appointment that we head to, where I have time to use the swanky Upper East Side reception bathroom, which hosts a white rose in a small vase of perfume to cover up what I'm sure we're all supposed to pretend I didn't do. After the appointment, we bus back to the West Side for two episodes of TV, about nine more trips to the bathroom for me, and two dinner-fed, alive children, and my day is over before it has begun. I don't understand how one person's day can involve shmoozing with the coolest famous mom, doing awesome things she's never allowed to do, while another person's is overtaken entirely with an unearthly need to poop. This is not a diagnosis of a digestive issue on my part. This is a commentary on the insane, insanely different daily lives of the mutts who call ourselves New Yorkers.
But most importantly, it's because we've all been there-- and Starbucks is always there waiting for us.
