It's official. I am NOT smarter than a fifth grader.

So, school is back in session. It's only been one week and two days and I've already needed a Botox session to wipe away my stress lines. (Now if I could just squeeze in a hair appointment to cover the entirely new section of gray that has started to sprout up in places it never did before.) My kids are now in second and fifth grade. So after doing a full day's work at the office, I must go home and muddle my way through elementary math, science, social studies, and reading for two children. (Two children who would much prefer to be playing outside or watching an episode of their favorite Nickelodeon television show rerun for the 37th time.)

Thank god my husband is good at math and science. As a communications professional, reading, grammar, and English related subjects are a piece of cake for me. But math and science are a whole different story. I am finding already that I am of no assistance to my fifth grader. Just looking at a word problem makes me sweat. And we haven't gotten close to the chapter that will involve a protractor. I am embarassed to admit that I don't remember half of that gobbledy gook they are covering in fifth grade! I'm not sure how long I can keep up the charade in front of my son, who will soon figure out that not only can I NOT help him with some of his homework, but the reason I can't is because I haven't used or needed that information in 20 years! If he finds that out, it will further reinforce his belief that becoming a professional skateboarder is the most logical career choice and his time would better be spent doing kick flips in the backyard then wasting his time on homework. I'll have to figure out a way to keep up the ruse.

On an unrelated, stream of consciousness note, my new nanny is working out great! Her car died yesterday (muy malo) but she made it to work today. When I asked her in my best broken Spanish how she got to my house she answered proudly, "I lease Toyota Corrolla. No dinero, pero goooood credit!" God bless America.

What's for dinner?

Because I work full time, I rely on having a nanny/babysitter to be with my children in the afternoons when they come home from school or camp. I already suffer from working mom's guilt, so nothing is more important than having the right person to take care of my kids when I can't be there. If you've read my previous posts, you'll know that I haven't had the greatest luck with nannies and my expectations are constantly being lowered. Nannies have become the bane of my existence. When we were hiring our first nanny almost seven years ago, we of course wanted Mary Poppins....a chipper loving type who would help the kids do homework while whipping up a nutritious meal. By the time we got to nanny #5 two years ago, our job description was basically "No pedafiles or convicted criminals, must drive and be able to operate a microwave."

When we recently found ourselves having to hire someone new, I vowed to raise my standards once again and hope for the best. We were lucky to find a lovely woman, recommended through a friend of a friend, who fit the bill in every way. Except she only speaks Spanish. I decided that a simple language barrier wasn't enough to stop me from getting my dream nanny....and how great that my kids would be exposed to and potentially learn another language! So, thanks to a very cool iPhone translator app that I'm using to help with dinner instructions (para la cena!) and otherwise communicate, we survived our first week. (My husband has also downloaded the same app, but he uses it to figure out how to say dirty words in Spanish.) She's not a 100% comfortable in my kitchen yet, and we almost had an "exploding pea" incident as she was learning how to use my microwave last Thursday, but for the most part, things are working out.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she'll be able to concinar el pollo y arroz blanco esta noche, so wish us luck!