Step off, Russian Nannies!

Seriously, I wish that I had a pic for this story, but alas I don't, so I have added one that might kinda sort go, but not really. I just thought a random picture of me and my Mom in a suuu-weet late nineties gem of a prom dress might pique your interest enough to read further. Okay, now that you're in, let's begin.

So, let's get down to business. I was at the park the other day. I was watching Christy's kids along with my own so that she could help a sister in the ward (I went to help, but my kids did more messy harm than good, and since we were there to clean, I was rendered useless.) Back to the park. Cool park (as is the style of New York). There was a big playground for bigger kids and little playground for smaller kids. As the five children who were under my care gleefully ran into the playground, I knew I had my work cut out for me. Wyatt still requires a lot of supervision; and plus, five is just a lot of kids. As the kids were running around playing, I took survey of the crowd there and noticed that I was alone in a sea of older, Russian nannies. They were all holed up together in a corner of the park with large, expensive strollers, gourmet snacks, fancy schmancy continuous spray sunscreen, and we're-wiser-than-you eyes. They looked like they actually owned the park, and I could sense that this was a group of women, excuse me, mothers and grandmothers turned nannies, who would not put up with any bologna that we newcomers might try and serve. This, however, did not throw me off because I was just waaaaaaaayyy too busy. As the kids were playing I noticed that a little girl from Team Russia was crying, and I surmised that she was been told by a little member of Team Almost-In-Over-My-Head (that's my team) that she can't play with their brother. Her personal Russian Nanny would have none of this, marched over, consoled her, and directly asked one of my team's kids, "Can she play with your brother?" (use a Russian accent when you read that question). To which, she was given no answer, and the small, yet defiant, members of Team Katie retreated to the other end of the playground.

At this point, a dark cloud passed over playtime as the Nannies regrouped in the corner by the swings and spoke very quickly, in Russian, with a flurry of pointing in our direction. Yikes! I was feeling the heat! But, you know what? Kids are kids. We will have a talk about this later. Right then I was in full on watch the kids mode. Until . . . . yep, Wyatt runs to the big kid playground and tries to climb. Then, a true New Yorker amongst the Russian Nanny Crowd, in her best abrassive, New York accent says, "He's too little. (well, duh). You should take these kids to a better playground. You are in over your head." Double Yikes! Now my pits started to sweat a little bit (for those of you who know my sweating situation this is a real big deal). I was a little intimidated. I mustered my courage and said, "Don't worry about. I got it." Hurray for me! I have a backbone. Now I removed little Wyatt from danger and decided I needed to regroup.

I called Team Pretty-Much-In-Over-My-Head over to the bench, sat them down, laid out some rules, and fed them some crackers. That brief moment of calm had refocused me, and that was where it all changed. I decided I was not going to chase those kids around the park, but instead they were going to have fun in a way that didn't frazzle me. If you can imagine a scene in a movie where some tough lady puts some leather gloves on and goes to work then you can imagine me at that moment. I totally owned that playground from that moment on.

I started working my magic on them. I taught them Red Rover, made a big pile of sticks with them, assigned them all Thomas the Train names, and even played duck duck goose. And as we were having fun in the shady corner of the park, along came the little Russian kids wanting to play with us. So, of course we let them play with us, and before we knew it we had a big group of kids (from both teams) playing on the shady end of the park. And to add a little sugar on top, the cold-hearted Russian Nannines start to melt. A few siddled over and smiled while their kids played with us. Then one nanny said to me, "You have gift with small children." (again, read with Russian accent). That comment was so funny to me because I didn't consider it a gift so much as a survival tactic. But hey, whatever works, right?

I hate to use my blog to brag, but seriously, I brought my A-game that day, and it felt kind of good.