The End Is Near

The end of the week comes and I get a familiar "ding" signifying an email on my iPhone. It is from Miley. I am almost afraid to open it. Lucky for me, I am driving and can spare myself the results for another 5 minutes.

I pull up to my curb and look at the phone, willing myself to open the email from Miley. But before I do, Hil calls me. She is overjoyed. Miley has accepted our offer for the summer. Lars must have been sitting there watching his inbox with beads of sweat forming on his expansive (billboard-sized) forehead. I am thrilled that Hil is so happy. She says Pat is happy too. They are finally getting the summer they want and frankly, the summer they need, and get to have it under the watchful eye of Mary Poppins' much younger sister.Yay them.

Surely the Earth is destined to crash into the sun before summer begins. It is inevitable.

One day, just days later, I get an e-mail confirming the arrangements with Miley. She will work 25 hours a week at the wage we agreed upon. I will obtain a Nanny pool membership. She will drive to and from my house and Lars' and will take the kids to the pool or whatever outings we agree upon. She will be compensated for her gas. I will open an account in our names and give her a Visa debit card so she can take the kids places without worrying about cash. I will transfer money as she needs it. Buy movie tickets on rainy days via Fandango. She will allow other kids to come on over but I insist that their parents know it is she watching them, not me.

Confirmed in its entirety. Pinch me.

Then days after that, doom.

Her mother has been offered the job at the college in the deep south. She may be moving much earlier than she'd hoped. She apologizes profusely. It leaves us with a few weeks of unsupervised, unplanned time with the kids. Crap.

I text Lars the facts. He calls. It's like he's been jilted. And as if my plan was perfectly stupid all along. What if she's a kook? What if she keeps looking for a better babysitting job and ditches us right at the end? What guarantee do we have? (Well, none, Lars. People are people. They do unpredictable things. He should know that by now, no?)

I remain calm. There are other people we can interview. One that contacted me the other day who also lives nearby and is home on break this coming week if we'd like to meet her. Or, if and when Miley finds she has to move, we find another gal to fill in, or cover it with the neighbor down the street who would love the money. Or enroll the kids in a single, tolerable week of camp, or something - we have months to work it out.

I hate it when he panics.

He tells me he'd like to call Miley. (I am sure he would!) And he'd like to ask her about her commitment, otherwise. Reluctantly, I agree.

And later when she sends me an e-mail, it seems like Lars, true to form, scared her a little. Questioned her commitment and said he was disappointed, made her feel like crap. (Been there, done that.)

I told her not to let Mr. Royal scare her off. She will deal with him so minimally and the kids are thrilled to have her. So am I. Lars is just a high strung worry wart and nothing to worry about. I wished her good luck with the rest of the semester and told her we'd spend some time letting her get to know the kids when she gets home.

She wrote right back. Obviously relieved.

And I live another day having dodged yet another bullet Lars had no f-ing clue he'd inadvertently fired.