Canada Moms Blog

The Nanny Diaries, part 4

Most days I think of my little space on the internet as not being very significant. Sure, I have developed wonderful relationships with some really awesome bloggers that I met online. But, for the most part, I keep to myself, I shy away from drama, and I am somewhat anonymous in this giant blog-o-sphere. Which is why I was surprised when I received an email from a reporter at the Toronto Star, wanting to talk to me about my nanny situation, specifically about the nanny agency that had completely screwed me over and was using my name to bring nannies to Canada; nannies who thought they'd be working for me, but instead show up in Canada with nowhere to go, no employer to work for.

Obviously, I was eager to talk with him; to tell him my story; to tell the other moms who are looking for nannies; to tell the world. I reach a small pocket of Canada in my space, but The Toronto Star reaches a much larger audience.

You see, I didn't know enough about how the live-in caregiver program worked. I didn't know that nannies were brought over here and when they didn't have jobs to go, were forced into jobs they didn't sign up for. I didn't know that they were charged such high fees to come over to Canada and spent most of their bi-weekly paychecks giving money back to the agency. I didn't know that they had to surrender their passports and social insurance cards.

The Nanny Diaries, part 3

When the 604 call came up on caller ID, I didn't race to answer it. Telemarketer, I just assumed. And then it rang again. and again. So, finally I answered it, ready with my pre-planned "I am not interested, but thank you" when the caller offered me some sort of resort deal. But alas, no! it wasn't a telemarketer, but, in fact, someone calling from Immigration Canada.

"Ma'am, we have your nanny here at the airport in Vancouver. She's ready to be picked up."

um. WHAT? I looked over at Nanny Haydee, who was standing in my kitchen, smiling. She was perfect. We scrambled after getting nanny poached, and seemed to have hit the nanny jackpot. She was sweet, SO SWEET, and so good with the kids.

"You must be mistaken. My nanny is here with me at my home. In Toronto."

"Well, she has paperwork with her. It says that she is coming to work for your family and your three kids. She says her agent Rakela worked this all out."

The Nanny Diaries, part 2

It was a Friday, around 7pm. And this was the very last thing I expected to hear out of my nanny’s mouth:

“Um, yeah, it’s okay if today is my last day?”

Um, yeah, if by that you mean that today is your last day…until Monday, is what I would have liked to have said. Except that is not at all what she meant. She quit. No two week notice. Nothing. According to her, she wasn’t unhappy. She didn’t have another job in the works. And she didn’t care that we were not longer going to sign papers for her.

And poof. Just like that. She was gone. She was gone, even though we had done everything right.

The Nanny Diaries, part 1

I came home from work this afternoon to find my nanny lounging on the couch reading the newspaper.

READING THE NEWSPAPER!

(this would be like if I were sitting and reading a book in my cubicle while my boss was sitting right beside me, expecting me to be working)

Over the past 6 years, I've had three different nannies and my fair-share of rather, um, interesting nanny stories:

My nanny sometimes sends my son to school dressed in his sister's skinny jeans.

My nanny occasionally eats the yogurt I hauled across the border from Michigan.

My nanny has shrunk at least 8 sweaters of mine.

My nanny has told me "Miss Ali, you look like you've gained weight!"

Kosher for Passover

There is currently a Kosher for Passover ketchup shortage in the Greater Toronto Area.

Seriously.

This is no joke. I have a brisket that needs to make it into my Kosher for Passover oven to serve at my Seder on Wednesday night. But - *sigh* - without said ketchup, my Bubbie’s famous brisket cannot get made. (ps. It’s the easiest recipe in the world – ketchup, onion soup mix, and pepper. And it gets nothing but compliments. Huzzah! My favourite way to cook. It looks hard, but it’s super easy)

Most people would say, “Ali, I thought the only thing you couldn’t eat on Passover was bread! Ketchup is ketchup, right?”

And this is where most of you would be wrong.

The Tourist

I’m a city girl. 

Only I’m totally NOT a city girl.

Oh no. I am not. But, alas, I have city dreams. As a teenager, I wanted to live in THE CITY. I wanted to shop in local boutiques and discover new hole-in-the-wall restaurants and ride the subway wherever I needed to go. I wanted to surround myself with old, beautiful architecture and museums and CULTURE. I wanted to avoid big malls and places like California Pizza Kitchen and I wanted to never have to drive a minivan (or ANY car for that matter). I wanted to be a hop, skip, and jump away from my pick of cute little coffee shops. I wanted to buy hidden treasures at used book stores and eat street meat. Basically, I wanted a life completely different than the way I grew up.

But, *sigh* I would totally suck at the city.