No Goats AllowedPosted: September 16, 2011
I help out my son, Ryan, and daughter-in-law, Jamie, by babysitting our newest grandchild 3 days a week. It’s a great job because Olivia is the absolute perfect baby. We lived out-of-state when our other grandchildren were babies, so this is a real treat. My son just accepted a new job so his hours are changing from working a graveyard shift to working days. As a result, they need a full time sitter and, since I would still like to enjoy part of my retirement, they’re going to hire someone to work three days and I’ll fill in the other two. Plus, I get to help Jamie with the interviews since I can’t have just anyone taking care of my granddaughter.
I was explaining to Mom that I’d be watching Olivia for six hours a day, two days a week instead of four hours a day, three days a week and Jamie would be getting a nanny.
“Well I don’t think that’s allowed,” she said, munching on her breakfast banana.
“Not allowed?” I asked. “What do you mean, not allowed?” I asked, totally confused.
“They live in the city,” she explained. “If they lived in the country – you know, out in the desert someplace, it would be different. But they can’t do that in the city.”
“Have a goat. I’ve heard of chickens, but I think a goat would be too big and it wouldn’t be allowed. Neither would a cow.”
“You said they were getting a goat.”
“Who, who’s getting a goat?” I almost shouted, rethinking my choice of a third cup of coffee.
“Jamie and Ryan,” she said, matter-of-factly, switching from the banana to a breakfast granola bar.
“When did I say they were getting a goat, for heaven sakes?”
“Just now. You said you had to help them pick one out. And I said they can’t have on in the city.”
“A nanny, Mom. Not a nanny goat. A nanny!”
“Oh, that’s different. They can have one of those. Just make sure it isn’t a pervert nanny like you see on TV.”
“I’ll do that, Mom. No pervert nannies. I promise.”