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“Clearly. We’ve read your resume and references, obviously, but a nanny position is so about fit. Is there anything you can share with us that isn’t on your resume?”
It’s a great question, and one I prepared for when I was about to graduate UCSB and participating in mock interviews with professors and department heads who were pretending to consider hiring me.
“I think something you won’t see on my resume but that might be reflected in some of my references is how much I believe in the positive outcomes of routine and consistency. So, I start with establishing regular tasks and trips and repetitive behaviors. Up at the same time, going through a morning ritual, a weekly checklist of things to do, familiar foods. I’ve found it provides a sense of safety for children—and oftentimes, adults—and makes life easier and more manageable if there aren’t constant questions about what’s next.”
Roger smiles at me. “What a wonderful thing to hear, especially under the circumstances.”
My mind races back over what I said to figure out what that might mean.
“Honestly, Teddy is in desperate need of some consistency. And with how, well…with how everything has changed recently, giving him a new person to lean on who will help him feel safe sounds lovely.”
My smile brightens.
“And Teddy’s your son?”
Sharon laughs. “Oh no, dear. Teddy is our grandson. You’re a sweetheart, but even the kindest people wouldn’t mistake us for the parents of a three-year-old.”
I laugh as well, enjoying the way she plays it off.
Their age was surprising, but it makes sense that they’d seek a nanny for their grandson. It can’t be easy running after a child so young when you’re in your later years in life.
I open my mouth, preparing to ask about Teddy, when I hear noise from the baby monitor next to Roger.
“Ah, perfect timing.” He stands from his seat. “Teddy is just waking up from his nap. Why don’t I go grab him and bring him out? That way we can see how the two of you get along.”
“That sounds perfect,” I reply.
Sharon and Roger exchange a look I don’t understand, but ultimately Roger heads back inside for Teddy.
“What made you want to work with children?” Sharon asks, continuing the interview.
At that, I grin. “When I was in high school, I did a lot of babysitting. A lot. And I always enjoyed the challenge of making those nights experiences to remember. It gave me a chance to be creative and thoughtful, to learn things about the children I was in charge of and utilize that knowledge in a way that made them feel special and important. Nannying is very similar, just over a longer period of time, and with more opportunities to problem-solve.”
Her lips tilt up and her head dips to the side as she listens to me answer her question.
“Can you tell me a bit about your last family? The children, your role, responsibilities.”
“Absolutely. My primary responsibility was caring for a four- and six-year-old brother and sister. I took them to and from school, made all of their meals, took them to and from dance and soccer practice, and made sure they completed their homework. I also kept a full roster of activities to keep them busy outside the house, because the parents were regularly entertaining and didn’t want their children running around when guests were over.”
Sharon chuckles to herself. “I remember those days. Part of me wishes I could go back and tell myself my kid would only be that age for so long and I shouldn’t be so worried about him running around getting into trouble, but you live and you learn.”
Before we can say anything else, the sliding door opens wide and a tiny blonde wearing glasses and a big smile comes bursting out onto the deck.
“Teddy, wait,” Roger says, laughing as he chases after his grandson, moving much slower than a three-year-old straight off a midday nap.
But Teddy has no interest in waiting, instead racing off the deck, down the stairs, and out to the tire swing that dances lightly in the breeze.
“Mind if I go try to play with him?” I ask, figuring now is as good a time as any.
Roger looks relieved and waves me on as he plops down next to Sharon at the table.
Sure enough, Teddy’s little legs are taking him straight to the swing, and once he’s close enough, he jumps up in an attempt to throw himself through the center of it, though he doesn’t manage to land too gracefully.
His hands grip the opposite edge of the tire and his face is barely visible through the hole, but he holds himself there as long as his little muscles can manage…
…before he lets go and drops to the ground with a smack.
I’m only a few feet away at this point, but I can see his face scrunch up like he’s about to cry.
