Things were a little skewiff when she asked me to come at 5pm. 5pm? This is the time my children go a little ker-azy and are seen chasing each other around the house, half-tired, half-delirious. But ok, 5pm if it's good for her, it's good for me.
We rocked up and I could see her through the glass door, so I stood there feeling like a massive dork - she was talking to someone picking up their child. The Doctor, Tiny and I stood there - with me thinking - surely she's going to open the door, surely she sees our shadows on her doorstep. But we stood there for a good few minutes before I relented and I knocked.
She opened the door, barely acknowledged me, and I stood to the side while she continued her conversation with the other lady.
Finally she led us out to her kitchen, which had an adjoining play room with sliding glass doors. She ushered the kids out to play. Then she closed the doors. The kids could see us, but they were blocked by those heavy doors. It was like being in a criminal line-up. Except it wasn't one way glass. And we weren't criminals. And there were no height markings on the wall. And I am sure even police cells have heating. It was freaking cold out there dudes, and my smalls had been shunted out of the way so she could talk shop with me.
And then she let her oversized boxer dog in. And he kept sniffing around me. And sniffing. And sniffing. And she didn't pull him away.
Let me put my cards on the table right now.
I like dogs. But I don't love dogs. I love cats. Dogs - dogs are needy, sniffy, sometimes a bit smelly, I am not a dog person. And there was a massive boxer in my face - licking my arm, it's making the hairs stand up on my neck just thinking about it. I like dogs, I do not love them. Especially licky dogs that sniff a lot.
So the dog was allowed to be with us. But my kids were shut out in the cold 'play room'.
We chatted in some awkward interview type deal, and then I decided that I needed to get my children back from sub-zero temps and go home and defrost them.
Tiny came in and she completely wreaked of a big steamy poo. The carer handed me some rubber gloves and insisted I change her nappy right there and then. Er... We lived not even four minutes up the road, am I wrong? Am I wrong for wanting to change my daughter's nappy when we got home instead of in a stranger's home?
Clearly, I did not proceed with this arrangement, and have put the brakes on with any form of care. I've been lucky enough to rely on my sister and my FIL to help when I am going into work. But that's only a short term arrangement and I need to come up with something else. After having a few dud experiences with family daycare, I am loathe to go back there.
Basically, I'd like Nanny McPhee.