They Always Remember Love

Did you know I'm a dolphin?  I totally am. 

My nanny career has its roots in my early babysitting years.  I began babysitting at the age of 10 and never stopped.  I quickly built up regular client families, some of whom became like family to me. 

When I was 17, my neighbors had their second baby.  I held that tiny girl in my arms when she was less than 12 hours old and fell hard for her tiny wrinkled face.  I spent a great deal of time at their home that school year, helping mom get sleep and avoiding the drama and chaos in my own home across the street.  When I went away to college, she was not quite 10 months old.  I knew her older brother would remember me, but I was absolutely certain that she would quickly forget me.  About a month later, I came home for a weekend and had the opportunity to babysit for them again.  When I walked into their home, I expected her to be wary of me and unsure who I was.  This was not the case.  When I picked her up, instead of being her wiggly active little self, she snuggled in and laid her head on my shoulder, faced in towards my neck.  And then she stayed like that, cozy and melted in, one tiny hand patting my back.  I remarked about my surprise to her parents, and her dad said something which has guided my caregiving ever since:

 "Of course she remembers you. They always remember love." 

It was really the first time I realized that the way in which I cared for children, even if just occasionally, had an impact on the children.  I knew it mattered if I kept them safe, if I followed their parents' rules, if we had fun together.  But the longer term implications, the lasting impact I could have on their hearts, hadn't really sunk in for me until that moment.

Perhaps because I did not grow up feeling secure in the love of one of my parents, due largely in part to being told straight out that I was difficult to love, and that she wished I'd never been born, the words of that man on that night struck a deep chord inside me.  It has resonated ever since.

No matter what I may or may not teach them, no matter what they may learn under my care or in spite of my care, the guiding principle for me is this:  I want the children entrusted to my care to know that they are loved.  That they are loved by their parents, by their siblings, by their extended family, and by their nanny.  Unconditionally.  Not because they are funny or smart or athletic or artistic or cute or compassionate or talented or sweet...but loved simply because they are.  You exist, and thus you are loved.

It can be difficult to feel successful with that goal, especially when so much of my role involves correcting behaviour, setting boundaries for children to push against, and convincing little ones to complete tasks they are loathe to take on.  Eat your vegetables. Pick up your toys.  Wash your hands.  Keep your hands to yourself.  Stay where you can see me.  Do your homework. Be kind to each other.  Say please.  Say thank you.  Use your walking feet. Time for bed.  Buckle up.  No matter how sweet or patient or silly I am, I know that my little free spirits often chafe under authority.  And, thus, some days I am left wondering "Did they feel loved enough today?"  and, on the balance, "Are they secure in the knowledge that, no matter how easy or rough our day is, their nanny loves them?" 

Which brings me to the fact that I'm a dolphin.

On Christmas Eve I had the pleasure of a day with my previous nanny kids.  The Twincesses are nearly 9 now, and Little Litigator will be 11 soon after that.  They are bright, active, curious little chatterboxes and our conversations often venture far deeper than one would expect with 3rd and 5th graders. 

Over lunch at a nearby museum, Twincess A brought up the subject of Native Americans.  The girls are currently studying the subject in school and find it fascinating.  "Did you know?" she queried, "Did you know that Native Americans get their names from nature?  They get named for their personalities, not just like, names.  Part of their name is about their personality, and the other is something from nature that is like them.  Like, Running Rabbit or something." 

And so, of course, I asked her, "Well, if you were Native American, what would your name be do you think?"  That stumped her, and she turned it back around on me.  "I think you should name me, people don't name themselves!"   

Hmmm. How to name the observant, kind, gentle souled, socially savvy child who is sensitive to being smaller than her twin?  "Thoughtful Willow."  I'm not sure that's what she expected, and she asked for definition.  "Thoughtful, because you like to think before you talk about things.  And thoughtful because you pay attention to how other people feel, and you are very thoughtful and considerate of those feelings.  You notice what is important to others, and you are kind and respectful of that.  Many people aren't that insightful, and the people around you are happier because your love and kindness are a part of their lives. And Willow, because willow trees look very pretty and delicate, but they are actually very very strong because their branches are flexible and move with the wind even though the tree stands its ground.  You don't like to fight or argue, but you are very good at being strong and standing your ground when it is important to you."   She lit up, proud and slightly self conscious.  And, of course, her siblings clamored for the same. 

Twincess E, the direct, straightforward, confident, not-afraid-to-question-authority child with a deep deep sense of justice became "Speaking River."  Speaking, I told her, because she likes to talk things through and talk about all the different parts of topics, and because she is not afraid to speak up when she thinks something is unjust or unfair or unkind.  "Some people just stay quiet, and let things be wrong," I explained, "But you are brave and speak up, and that's how the world gets better for everyone."  And River, because rivers might twist and turn with the lay of the land, but they leave their mark.  Water is a strong force in nature, and over time can create great beauty just like the Colorado River created the Grand Canyon.  And, like a river, she is willing to go with the flow when she needs to, but she's not afraid to leave her mark to change the world.  

Little Litigator was harder to name. Not because I couldn't come up with descriptors, but because as an almost 11 year old boy, he is sensitive and aware of being seen more as an older kid than as a little kid, more aware to start defining himself as man instead of boy.  "Fighting Antelope"  Antelope, because it sounds (to him) more masculine than "gazelle" and gazelle (gazelles being a type of antelope) is what I think of when I see this boy run.  When he runs all out, for the pure joy of movement, his stride is longer than he is tall.  It is graceful, strong, breathtaking to see.  It's not just the power of his movement, but the joy that radiates.  And Fighting...a word which made him chuckle...because he likes to challenge everything, and that while his grown ups sometimes don't like it, it's also a sign of strong character.  He fights for what he thinks is fair, and what he thinks is right.  That takes bravery and strength, especially when it means challenging authority.  Nothing ever changes to make the world better without the occasional challenge to authority. 

All in all, they were pleased.  And then they decided they should return the favor and give *me* a new name. 

I won't lie.  I held my breath and died a little inside.  I was completely unsure what they would come up with.  Bossy Cow, maybe? 

"Well," Fighting Antelope put forth as his siblings nodded, "Definitely your name is Loving...something.  I don't know what from nature, but definitely Loving."  My heart skipped a bit.  Speaking River chimed in, "Yeah, Loving.  Or Caring, because you take care of us." 

I had to swallow a few tears to tell them, "That makes my heart so happy to hear you say that." 

And then they were stumped for the rest of it.  After several minutes, it was the insightful Thoughtful Willow who finished off my name.  "I know!  Loving Dolphin!  That's your name!  Because dolphins are smart and they help people and they like to play!" 

In a nutshell, that's what a good nanny is, right?  At least in the eyes of a child.  Smart, helpful, playful. 

Loving Dolphin. 

I haven't been their nanny in three years.  I do not see them nearly as often as my heart would like because of busy schedules and just...life. 

But of all the things they could have chosen... Loving Dolphin.

They always remember love.  

No success could be sweeter.