Southern Girls and Their Daddies

Much has been said about the relationship between southern girls and their daddies. He is her first love. Her protector, provider, and absolute most adoring fan. Fathers of southern girls are especially well known for placing their daughters on pedestals. And trust me, we like it there. The view is much better. Often times, us southern girls find it a hard landing when our first heartbreak knocks us off that lofty perch. But that is a story for another day...

To be a southern girl and pronounce is correctly, it is DIDDY. I never heard this pronunciation uttered from my mouth until it was snobbishly pointed out by one of my Yankee friends. (and I use the term friend loosely here.) After repeating "DADDY" out loud several times in succession, I conceded their observation - when I speak to or of my Daddy, it sounds like "Diddy." This realization came years ago and I am past the shame now.

I bring this up because my Diddy has once again come to my rescue. I am in the throws of a child-care crisis. I have three small children. The oldest, at six, is in school and leaves early in the morning with her Diddy. That leaves two with me. The four year old attends Pre-Kindergarten in the afternoons and the 20 month old stays home full-time. As do I. I am not a stay at home Mom. Actually, I am, but not in the traditional sense of the term.

I have a full time job. I work from home over the internet in the software industry. I have customers and co-workers around the world. It's about the coolest job I could have ever imagined for myself. EXCEPT when I don't have adequate, capable child care. A little over a month ago, I posted an ad locally and interviewed several candidates. Found one that was all but Mary Poppins. A few weeks after she started, she informed me of a family crisis that required her immediate attention for an undetermined length of time. I offered to keep her position open for her - if I was able and if she was interested. She was. She thought I was being generous and compassionate. I admit - it was/is completely self-serving.

So off I go in search of a fill-in as I desperately would like to have my Mary Poppins back. A few friends volunteered and filled in a couple days. Then I get the best news ever, my neighbor's daughter-in-law is looking for a job. So we talk and she agreed to start last Thursday and help me out till MP comes back. This is awesome!

So the DIL calls before the crack of dawn on Thursday and comes right over. Much earlier than I expected but I just wrote it off to her wanting to get the lay of the land so to be better prepared. I give her the run-down on the breakfast routine, the dressing routine, the no-TV rule, show her where the games, books, educational toys & activities closet is and then we wait for children to wake up. (She was THAT early).

The little darlings wake up, the day appears to go smoothly - a few bumps, but nothing noteworthy. Then in the afternoon, after DD is home from Pre-K, she takes it upon herself to break this new baby sitter in right. She pulls out all the stops - a Temper Tantrum Miss Piggy would be proud of. Screaming, screeching, yelling, flailing, tears, huffs, puffs. I get all this filtered through a closed door. I wait. Don't intervene. Allow this sitter this time to assert her authority - to take control of the situation.

Alas, this control never materialized. I was finally forced out of my office whereby I promptly spewed a litany of threats to a red-faced, insolent four year old. First, I threaten to take away every Barbie she owns. She pouts less. Then I threaten to remove all shoes that have any sort of sparkles at all on them. She softens more. Finally, I show no mercy and pull out the big guns. Jewelry. If she doesn't straighten up and fly right, all jewelry will be packed up and sent to a little girl that doesn't have any. All jewelry. Earrings included. Remorse is visible. I can taste victory. I am about to win. She swears she will behave and listen and clean her room and be nice to her sister and eat all her veggies, et al.

So then the baby sitter asks if DD can watch a movie. While this is direct opposition to the No TV Rule, I immediately, without thought say "YES, of course. Let me show you how the DVD player works."

So the rest of the afternoon is quiet and uneventful. Said baby sitter leaves for the day. I think to myself "Not a great first day but we can get through this a few weeks until our Mary Poppins can return."

Discovered on Thursday night that DD #1 was out of school on Friday. So new baby sitter would have all three precious angels on Friday. Might be rough - but we'd manage.

WRONG! Friday morning, baby sitter shows up on time. I start to tell her how she will have all three kids and she stops me to say, "I need to tell you something." I hate it when people in my employ issue those exact words. It is never, EVER followed by anything good.

She proceeded to tell me that she could not do this job. That she had cried all the way home the day before and furthermore, her experience with my offspring had convinced her that she no longer wanted to have kids of her own. Now this I understand. My kids remind me every day that I don't want any more.

Don't get me wrong, wouldn't trade them for anything. They are priceless to me. But I wouldn't give a wooden nickel for another one.

With this pronouncement she turned tail and exited my house at no less than the speed of sound...

Thankfully I have a young friend nearby that was able to come over at the drop of the hat and help me out on Friday. I owe this kid BIG time!

And this is where my Diddy comes in. He drove over yesterday from South Mississippi to Texas to spend the week helping me with my precious angels. Diddy does dishes. He does laundry. He drops off. He picks up. He takes them to McDonald's on the way home from school when I specifically tell him not to. He even changes dirty diapers and doesn't complain about sleeping in the princess bedroom. God Love Him!

For the past three weeks I have been trying to rescue him from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And now, he is here. Rescuing me.