So I survived my first day with the new Phil and Lil. So we don’t confuse my charges, I’ll call them Jack and Jill. Here’s your refresher course: Jack is a year and a half and Jill is three years old. And let me tell you, they are freaking adorable.
Besides a few small mishaps (one including a jar of confusing organic peanut butter), my day ran pretty much as best as could be expected. It’s pretty safe to say that this was the best first day on the job I’ve ever had. Normally when you start a job it’s a lot of confusion, a lot of not knowing what to do and so much information coming at you that you end up forgetting the majority of what you’ve been told.
Being that this isn’t my first job as a nanny, my first time changing a diaper or taking care of a small child I felt pretty comfortable. Add that to a mom who worked from home all day, but didn’t hover and we had a pretty great day.
Minus my commute. Now that’s something I’m going to have to get used to. The family is in the process of moving from the Upper West Side to the Upper East Side. Mainly because Jill is starting at a prestigious little person school. Not joking.
Once they have re-situated in their new apartment my commute will be easy peasy. Until then my commute is capital A-W-F-U-L. Luckily the move is about a month away so this time in my life will be a distant memory hopefully sooner rather than later. So here’s how my day started:
I gave myself forty-five minutes to get from Astoria to the Upper West Side. As I’m leaving my door I decide to check Google Maps, to see how long they estimate my commute will take. Forty-seven minutes. Did I just brag in my three interviews about how I’m always punctual and now I am estimated to be two minutes late?? Really? So I start to panic a little, but not too much. It’s rush hour, trains are abundant, I’m going to be fine.
But in order to get from where I live to where they live I must ride a handful of stops in Queens, and then go all the way across Manhattan and south two stops to Times Square. At Times Square I hop on the line that will backtrack me north to the Upper West Side. I get on the express train which takes me to 96th Street in no time. Problem is I need to be at 107th Street. And I have 6 minutes until I need to be there.
My options are walk the eleven blocks or wait who knows how long for a local train to bring me to 110th Street, and then backtrack three blocks. On a normal day I would have no doubt chosen option number two. But today I couldn’t risk waiting five minutes for the train to arrive, and then another five for it to get me to 110th, and then another five for me to walk the three blocks.
So I decide I have to run. I run up the subway steps and start sprinting toward my destination. After about three blocks I’m dying. I’ve already done a mile and a half with my dog this morning, and now I’m carrying a heavy purse and running across an elite New York neighborhood in ballet flats.
I finally arrive at their apartment building, run past the doorman and totally out of breath yell, “HOLD THE ELEVATOR!!” I get in the elevator sweating and panting with two residents obviously staring at me.
The elevator stops at the fourteenth floor and I get off three minutes late. I ring the bell and wipe the sweat from my brow. Let’s do this.