Song: Ho Hey- The Lumineers
Once upon a time in a land far far away, I had a staff. Well, it was one woman, Dahlia, but she worked as hard as a staff. She did everything under the umbrella of homemaking to make my household run smoothly and cleanly. Well, not everything. She cleaned but didn't cook. She looked after the third and final baby Henry but not the two older boys. She was here almost all of the time. Once upon a time, I had a live-in housekeeper/nanny.
I never thought I'd be the sort of person who had live-in help. My mother-in-law insisted we get help with the third. Dahlia had been my husbands nanny when he was four. She had moved back to the states just this year. It was a sweet story but still I was resistant. How could I enjoy privacy with someone here? How could I "do-me" with an on-looker?
Boy did that change. I adapted in the time in took to place my five day old son in her arms and get back into bed. I was recovering from a c-section. When that excuse passed, I was recovering from a broken heart (my dad died three days after Dahlia unpacked her bags). She was the first person I told, "Dahlia, mi padre morte." She looked at me, cradling Henry, "I sorry, Mrs." Mrs. I smiled, so sweet. I took Henry out of her arms and told him all about his Papa. I wouldn't let him sleep in her room that night. When I woke up that morning, after neither Henry or I having slept that night, I returned him to her waiting arms. From then on, I really cashed in my chips.
I was home recovering unable to drive or see people, but still I wouldn't be the type to telecast my new found fortune. People can only be so happy for a person, especially when it comes to the person not having to do laundry. However, our oldest son, Colbert, five years old at the time, was invited for a playdate by a charitable mom from a boy in his class's house- when he was dropped off (how nice was that?!) I answered the door, infant Henry in my arms.
"Oh! Hi!" The mom said. "I'm surprised to see you with the baby."
"Really?" My back molar suddenly needing the attention of my tongue. "Why's that?"
"Colbert said he sleeps in the basement with the woman who does your chores." She said.
The mouths of babes.
"Well, it's heated." I called after her in my mind. "For the most part anyway.... It has a humidifier?"
The rest of that month is a fog.
After two weeks of live-in Dahlia, the help I thought could only feel like an intrusion! I couldn't imagine functioning without it. It wasn't long before I heard myself saying TO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING I'd rather live in a card board box with a housekeeper than live without help. Which is basically what we do. If that sounds awful -I don't apologize. At a friends baby shower the family past around a book asking for advice, I said "Get as much sleep as you can and as much help as you can afford." I had really turned a corner. Her two week stint turned into a near two year commitment.
She didn't stay all week. She came for three nights. On Monday mornings at 7:43am my phone would ring, "I am here." Dahlia would say, in a musical accent that would light up my heart. It never got old. It only got better. On Thursday mornings, her bag would be packed to go, my heart would sink. That got old quick and never got better. For a while, hating to see her go was because with her went my freedom. Then, as Henry got on his feet, hating to see her go was because with her went his heart.
He loved her.
He would swoon when she walked in the room, bat his eyes, run to me- wrapping his arms around my legs and look back at her. The nights she wasn't there, he would wake up bawling- calling her name. "Ya-ya!" he cried. "Ya-ya." A plaintive wail. And there was nothing on top of it. Not a layer of resentment or self-pity. I wished I could slap a coat of jealousy or insanity on it- anything to make the heartbreak easier to absorb. But no, the scalding pure inimitable cry of a broken heart. My baby.
After trying a bottle, a pacifier, rocking him, walking him, singing to him- everything I could think of to get him back to sleep I finally said, "You miss Dahlia?" and he put his little head down on my chest, heaving a sigh of relief that I understood. Or that I stopped singing.
I knew it was the beginning of the end.
Then one Saturday late in November Danny found a a diabetes pen in the refrigerator, wrapped in a paper towel. He asked me if it was mine...seriously. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you- I have diabetes. (That's sarcasm folks.)
So I asked Dahlia that following Monday about the pen.
"Yes, is mine." She said. "I have the sugar."
"Oh, no. The sugar." I said. "Are you okay?"
"Is okay." She said. "I'm leaving in December."
Homey said what?
"When did you find out you had it?"
"Five years before." She said.
"Five years ago?" I asked.
"In the 2008." She said. "I'm leaving December 29."
"Permiso?"
Wild.
She left for Los Angeles December 29, 2012. It may as well have been 2010. It feels so long ago. She called the first week a couple of times and we would all get on the phone, but then Henry would spend the rest of the day confused and crying and looking around for her. The way a broken heart does. So we stopped that. Then she called today. He recognized her voice, he smiled when she cooed, "Corazon! Papi! Mi amor!" But then he walked away, distracted by a red matchbox car. How quick a boys heart can heal. I was so happy. God must have done that for their mothers. She asked me if I had found someone else, I said no, I wasn't ready. We laughed. But really. I had no idea what I had gotten Henry into then...but now that I know- looks like lots more laundry for me:)
Once upon a time in a land far far away, I had a staff. Well, it was one woman, Dahlia, but she worked as hard as a staff. She did everything under the umbrella of homemaking to make my household run smoothly and cleanly. Well, not everything. She cleaned but didn't cook. She looked after the third and final baby Henry but not the two older boys. She was here almost all of the time. Once upon a time, I had a live-in housekeeper/nanny.
I never thought I'd be the sort of person who had live-in help. My mother-in-law insisted we get help with the third. Dahlia had been my husbands nanny when he was four. She had moved back to the states just this year. It was a sweet story but still I was resistant. How could I enjoy privacy with someone here? How could I "do-me" with an on-looker?
Boy did that change. I adapted in the time in took to place my five day old son in her arms and get back into bed. I was recovering from a c-section. When that excuse passed, I was recovering from a broken heart (my dad died three days after Dahlia unpacked her bags). She was the first person I told, "Dahlia, mi padre morte." She looked at me, cradling Henry, "I sorry, Mrs." Mrs. I smiled, so sweet. I took Henry out of her arms and told him all about his Papa. I wouldn't let him sleep in her room that night. When I woke up that morning, after neither Henry or I having slept that night, I returned him to her waiting arms. From then on, I really cashed in my chips.
I was home recovering unable to drive or see people, but still I wouldn't be the type to telecast my new found fortune. People can only be so happy for a person, especially when it comes to the person not having to do laundry. However, our oldest son, Colbert, five years old at the time, was invited for a playdate by a charitable mom from a boy in his class's house- when he was dropped off (how nice was that?!) I answered the door, infant Henry in my arms.
"Oh! Hi!" The mom said. "I'm surprised to see you with the baby."
"Really?" My back molar suddenly needing the attention of my tongue. "Why's that?"
"Colbert said he sleeps in the basement with the woman who does your chores." She said.
The mouths of babes.
"Well, it's heated." I called after her in my mind. "For the most part anyway.... It has a humidifier?"
The rest of that month is a fog.
After two weeks of live-in Dahlia, the help I thought could only feel like an intrusion! I couldn't imagine functioning without it. It wasn't long before I heard myself saying TO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING I'd rather live in a card board box with a housekeeper than live without help. Which is basically what we do. If that sounds awful -I don't apologize. At a friends baby shower the family past around a book asking for advice, I said "Get as much sleep as you can and as much help as you can afford." I had really turned a corner. Her two week stint turned into a near two year commitment.
She didn't stay all week. She came for three nights. On Monday mornings at 7:43am my phone would ring, "I am here." Dahlia would say, in a musical accent that would light up my heart. It never got old. It only got better. On Thursday mornings, her bag would be packed to go, my heart would sink. That got old quick and never got better. For a while, hating to see her go was because with her went my freedom. Then, as Henry got on his feet, hating to see her go was because with her went his heart.
He loved her.
He would swoon when she walked in the room, bat his eyes, run to me- wrapping his arms around my legs and look back at her. The nights she wasn't there, he would wake up bawling- calling her name. "Ya-ya!" he cried. "Ya-ya." A plaintive wail. And there was nothing on top of it. Not a layer of resentment or self-pity. I wished I could slap a coat of jealousy or insanity on it- anything to make the heartbreak easier to absorb. But no, the scalding pure inimitable cry of a broken heart. My baby.
After trying a bottle, a pacifier, rocking him, walking him, singing to him- everything I could think of to get him back to sleep I finally said, "You miss Dahlia?" and he put his little head down on my chest, heaving a sigh of relief that I understood. Or that I stopped singing.
I knew it was the beginning of the end.
Then one Saturday late in November Danny found a a diabetes pen in the refrigerator, wrapped in a paper towel. He asked me if it was mine...seriously. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you- I have diabetes. (That's sarcasm folks.)
So I asked Dahlia that following Monday about the pen.
"Yes, is mine." She said. "I have the sugar."
"Oh, no. The sugar." I said. "Are you okay?"
"Is okay." She said. "I'm leaving in December."
Homey said what?
"When did you find out you had it?"
"Five years before." She said.
"Five years ago?" I asked.
"In the 2008." She said. "I'm leaving December 29."
"Permiso?"
Wild.
She left for Los Angeles December 29, 2012. It may as well have been 2010. It feels so long ago. She called the first week a couple of times and we would all get on the phone, but then Henry would spend the rest of the day confused and crying and looking around for her. The way a broken heart does. So we stopped that. Then she called today. He recognized her voice, he smiled when she cooed, "Corazon! Papi! Mi amor!" But then he walked away, distracted by a red matchbox car. How quick a boys heart can heal. I was so happy. God must have done that for their mothers. She asked me if I had found someone else, I said no, I wasn't ready. We laughed. But really. I had no idea what I had gotten Henry into then...but now that I know- looks like lots more laundry for me:)
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