Back in the saddle again.

Sort of.

Surgery was Monday and I'm making progress. Don't have much of a brain to post this (I'm sorry, the drug dispensing gods stole my brain) but I did want to make it clear that I came through alright and that I am walking again. It's going to be a fun road to recovery, but I am improving and, most importantly, I have taken a shower. And for that the entire State of Maryland is grateful.

Happy Holidays.

Baby got back.

Without going into the horrible details, I am playing patient at the moment and am practicing the height of mediocre mothering. My back is out. Beyond out. It started 2 weeks ago and will hopefully end tomorrow morning when I'm admitted for surgery. I can't walk. I can barely type this e-mail at the moment, what with the heavy drugs and all. I've got family in and my current "quality time" with Captain Kid involves throwing Playhouse Disney on TV and vegging out in bed with him. I'm about to have 6 weeks of recovery ahead of me and I don't even want to talk about work.

You know what they say, when life throws you lemons, make gin and tonic with a twist. But for right now the only drinking I'm doing is accompanied by a couple of little pills on the side. I'll update more after surgery, but for now...the doctor is out.

Private parts.

I've never been very squeamish when it comes to horror films. I'll admit it, I do get a certain delight to watch a Zombie munch on the living in any and all "Night of the Living Dead" films and for sure, I dig the pea soup scene in "The Exorcist."

It's real life that gores me out. Which is why it was a bit of a shocker this morning when my friend, I'll call him "Bobert," e-mailed me photos of his newborn...and the placenta...and the detached umbilical cord. Actually, to be fair, the placenta was jiggling around in a bowl like jello and the umbilical cord was laid out on a tray, vaguely reminiscent of my 7th grade worm dissection project. I shrieked, just as I did in the 7th grade, and closed the photos.

Am I such a pansy that I can't take that before drinking my coffee?

When I was giving birth I was delighted that I had a big belly blocking the view. After the first push the doctor asked me if I'd like a mirror so that I could see.

No. I'm good.

After the third push when the head was coming out she asked if I'd like to reach down and feel it.

No. I'm good.

In fact, if I had my druthers NO ONE would have seen that. I, in fact, have marveled with a girlfriend that our husband's actually want to "go there" now that they've seen that. I suppose I feel lucky that the Dad's still interested after seeing my bits and pieces in such a state. Especially after his squeamish reaction when they asked if he'd like to cut the cord:

Ummm. Cutting is for doctors.

Of course, some readers may think I'm a bit prudish and that it's all natural, animals eat their baby's placenta, in some cultures humans eat the placenta, blah blah blah. Alright. I'll give you that. But it taint my thang.

But if it's your thang, maybe this link will satisfy your appetite. For your entertainment, Tom Cruise' Placenta Eating Guide...

The Story of Vodka.

Ah, yes, kids do say the darnedest things. Which is why the Deviant Dad and I went cross eyed the other day when Captain Kid delightfully requested "Vodka Singing, pease!" It quickly dawned on us he was requesting "Hanukkah singing." So now we delightfully regale him in rousing choruses of "Oh Hanukkah" or "Oh Vodka," if you will, over and over again.

Hanukkah starts next week and we've been furiously buying small items to delight and disappoint him. But naturally, all he's really interested in is the "kismass ites" that line our street. And so I find myself in new territory. I've been living in this town for nearly 10 years and I have never had to ponder the lessons I might have to teach and the disappointment that may lay ahead. Because in truth I grew up in a very Jewish neighborhood, where Christmas lights we're generally met with indifference or some yente exclaiming, "Oy, how tacky."

But now, with the realization of the Captain being the outsider ahead of us, it brings up the larger question to me of how to infuse religion and culture into his life when the competition has really pretty lights, trees and costumes and, let's face it, much catchier songs. The reality that lies ahead is that learning through peer osmosis will simply not be an option. And then the more harsh responsibilities, like how to broach the subject of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, will have to be infused with a degree of diplomacy and tact. .

I'm not going to sugarcoat this thing...Christmas is a load of fun. As probably the only Jew who was at the Vatican on Christmas day last year, I'll admit, yeah, I get a little Christmas spirit. And save last year, we have a long-standing tradition of hanging with the Captain's godparents on Christmas Day and they put on a hell of a show. But I have to ask myself...what's my bottom line? As much as I'd love to say that a fun light-up menorah is just as rockin' as a string of twinkly lights....really, who am I kidding?

Sigh. If only some of these favorite television Hanukkah characters would come along and explain it all to the Kid, life would be a lot easier...

Those were the days.

"ABCD Cookie Monster"

Remember when it was hip? Check out this New York Times article for more fabulous memories. We were so badass.

The Chuck E. Cheese Effect

A number of years ago I had the distinct misfortune of taking a family trip to Chuck E. Cheese with a couple of toddlers. It was during such a visit that I discovered the truth...Chuck E. Cheese is actually Satan.

Here's what it broils down to. Nowhere in the world will a child's worst attributes come out like at Chuck E. Cheese. They push and shove, they eat too many carbs, and it's all "mine. Mine. MINE!!!" If you have the misfortune that I did you will see a fight break out. You may even see (and yes I did) a kid puking (minus the head spinning, but I think you know where I'm going with all this). I'm pretty sure that my experience put off parenthood a good 5 years. And if after reading this column you STILL want kids, pack up your favorite niece or nephew and head on over.

I bring all this up, not because I plan to visit the 7th Circle again, but because after a 2 week long coughing fit, Captain Kid was diagnosed with walking pneumonia yesterday and I'm convinced that the same devil was tinkering with his brain. Yes, it's 9 o'clock on a Saturday and I've been sipping wine for a couple of hours to cope with what was a nightmare of a day. First off, I think walking pneumonia is a bit of a misnomer. Try Running-like-a-maniac-completely-unable-to-settle-down-for-even-a-minute-whilst-throwing-toys-cups-of-milk-and-insanely-bucking-his-head-at-anything-and-everything-he-can-including-DOG-Mom's-leg-and-the-floor Pneumonia. And naturally when they're sick all you can do is take it and resist the urge to throw them and/or yourself out a window.

The truth is that it's days like today where I doubt my capacity to ever do this again. And I don't understand how time and time again he manages to draw me back in. But mother nature must have a short ass memory for this kind of shit. Hell, she got me past Chuck E. Cheese in the first place.

Nannycide.

Many have suspected and, yes, I declare now that it is true...I have dropped off the face of the earth. In a working mother's universe of "something's gotta give" I selected the blog, at least for now. Truly, it was this or sleep and I'd sooner be declared a Mediocre Blogger than a Mediocre Driver when I haul ass an hour back and forth every morning and every afternoon.

As much as I want to curl up under my sofa and not address the Nannycide, a good friend pointed out that I should do it for posterity, lest I decide to forget or block it out. So here goes.

As it turns out, I didn't have Mary Poppins watching my kid, it was more like Mary Shelley. After only one week of service I started to become suspicious. I walked in the door after 6 to find a stack of dishes in the sink and hardly a noticeable trace of activities she engaged in with the Captain. So I did what any suspicious mother would do and checked her internet history. Yes, I felt like the Mom from The Nanny Diaries and was mortified by my own distrust. But naturally it was all well founded. After only one week, she'd decided to use my computer to solicit new jobs, saying that she'd been nannying for a 2 year old but that was about to change. When the Dad got home he used his hacker-like abilities and discovered a string of e-mails she sent in support of her craigslist ads.

Though our first instinct was to call her out and blast her then and there, our more pressing concern was that we had absolutely no replacement for her and we were just stuck. What was worse was that we knew if we confronted her with our findings that we'd have to explain the e-mail sleuthing and then we'd really be up shits creak. We resolved to find someone quickly and quietly so that we could drop her asap.

As it turns out, Frankentrash did us a big favor. She called out sick the next two days, thus throwing up into nanny-hunt overdrive. Long story short, we found an in-home daycare person with all the inconvenience of location you could hope for, but with a long list of references and immediate availability. But it was only Wednesday and we were set, meaning that we could boot her the next day. Now the fun began.

I should back up and mention in all of this that Frankenbitch kept making fake overtures about wanting to engage Captain Kid in a "sensory learning activity plan" and that she would need supplies to start this bad boy up. For sure, there's nothing more amusing than when uneducated stupid people try to use big words to deflect from the fact that they are fucking you over. So I played along. What did she have in mind? What would she need to buy? She even told me of her plans to sit in on the Captain's Montessori class to observe so that she could be better prepared to play with him in a meaningful way.

All the while, the craigslist ads kept going up. Now it's Wednesday and she's advertising for the hours that she watches Captain Kid.

So I did what any savvy internet user would do...I created a fake hotmail account to solicit her services. Not only did I create a whole fake persona I used small words, misspelled words and let's just say that I forgot to capitalize all around.

And not only did she take the bait, she told me of her availability starting November 9th and how she'd just given notice to her current family.

And naturally this is how I discovered when she planned her last day of work. I followed up with another e-mail saying I was interested; could she please send me a list of references, including the current family she nannies for.

So now (and if I haven't lost you yet) this is where the story gets complicated. Simultaneous with sending the fake hotmail e-mails, I contact her through AIM. I ask how she and her poor baby are feeling and she tells me much better. I ask her to please bring back the little riding toy I loaned her so that I could bring it to New York the following weekend. I verified that she was feeling well enough to watch Captain Kid the next day. No mention is made of her giving notice. By all measure, she sounded positively pleased about returning to work.

Suddenly, I notice an e-mail arrives in my inbox from her. She says she's giving her notice, that she has found another position that would work much better for her at this time, and that she has truly enjoyed the time she has spent with Captain Kid (yes, if you were doing the math, 1 week). I promptly log off of AIM, sit down and write the following note:

Hi, Felicia!

Sorry the house isn't cleaner (it was a crazy couple of days without you). If you could load the dishwasher and run the laundry that would be great. Also, we'd like to know what you have in mind for these "sensory games/play" you have in mind. A budget would be great too.

I'm in meetings all afternoon tomorrow, so txt me if you need anything.

-A

PS - Sorry there's no computer today. We packed it up last night to send to Dell for keyboard replacement.

PPS - So Glad everyone is feeling better!

My reasons for the note were threefold.

1. I did not want this little witch knowing that I knew she gave notice. My desire was to make it as uncomfortable as possible when we walked in the door to fire her ass;
2. Since she had an e-mail sitting there from chicchica81@hotmail.com requesting the details of her current employer, my feeling was that I could get a good bit of housework out of her; and most importantly
3. I had to do the hardest thing imaginable the next day and leave Captain Kid in her care. I had no option - we needed to get his car seat back and, more importantly, our key. My feeling was that if she even got a whiff of discontent from me that she could take it out on him. I needed her to think that she had a lot to lose by being a bitch. And that is exactly how it went down...

On Thursday, after she picked him up from school, I called the front office to let them know that she was never to be seen setting foot near my son after this day. His teacher was in on it too. At 5:30 pm that night, Deviant Dad and I met up at a local parking lot so that we could walk in the door together. Our first order of business was to find out how the Captain did that day. Our next order of business was to get our things back and throw her ass out the door. I now offer, unedited, a transcript (or as close to it as my brain can recall):

Deviant Dad - How did he do today?

Felicia Miller - He did fine. Ate pizza, napped for 2 hours. Sorry, but I really have to be running to my next job (EDITORS NOTE - NO, SHE DIDN'T RESIGN TO US AT THIS TIME, EVEN THOUGH SHE BELIEVED WE'D NEVER SEEN HER E-MAIL AS EVIDENCED BY A NOTE SHE SCRATCHED OUT TO US SAYING AS MUCH).

Mediocre Mama - Great, well, we'd like your key back, the name tag to pick him up, the car seat and the riding toy, and we'd like you to never come back again.

FM - Ummm, okay.

MM - Felicia, we're not stupid. We've known what you've been up to since Monday. And the fact that you could even pretend to my face that you were creating some curriculum and planning to go to his school is just incredible.

FM - No wait, I was only just offered a job yesterday.

MM - That's because you've been soliciting jobs from my computer since MONDAY!!!

I ask for the things back and she confesses that she neglected to bring his riding toy. I said, fine, you bought it and deduct $30 out of her two days pay for the week.

DD - The fact that you lasted with us as short a time as you did is just unacceptable.

MM - Felicia, you've got a lot of growing up to do.

The Dad escorts her out to the car, gets our belongings and out she goes, both dazed and/or confused. Nary a craigslist ad has been posted since.

It's hard to say which is the biggest lesson we learned. Clearly, never trust a Sicilian when death is on the line, but we already knew that. Naturally we'll be more careful in the future blah blah blah. But the bottom line is you never know. And the truth is that many nannies shop around new jobs as though they're hopping from Wendy's to McDonald's. I wish I could say that Felicia learned something from us, but the truth is that all she learned is to use a blackberry to solicit jobs instead of your employers computer.

What it did show me is how decidedly non-mediocre I can be when someone tries to fuck with my kid. It also showed me that as much of a cynic as I am, I am decidedly too hopeful and trusting in my belief that others have intentions as good as my own.

I did a lot of babysitting as a teenager and was consistently told after I left that world that they didn't know how good they had it until I left. Maybe in my mind it was hard to believe that another young woman, in particular, a mother, could have intentions that were less than honorable. Or maybe I just thought, hey, she's a mom...she wouldn't fuck over another mom.

So I thank Felicia Miller for teaching me something. She taught me that under the proper circumstances, I too am capable of fucking over another mother.

Captain Kid now has reliable daycare. And though not ideal, it will do. For now, being a working mom is stable and the job is going well. So, with apologies, hopefully I can get back to doing what I do best here. Making myself look like an ass for the entertainment of others. Thanks for hanging in there with me.