LOST: One Supernanny. FOUND: One Housemaid?

Well, there is good news to report this Thanksgiving Day Eve… it seems that we have found ourselves a housemaid! Daddy found the listing of a woman I'll call "Alice" (Brady Bunch forever!) advertised in our local supermarket (called, amusingly to me, “Spinneys”), and he invited her over for an interview a few days ago. As soon as I sat down at the table and she began to speak, I melted: I could understand what she was saying, and she did not appear to be struggling for the right words. In fact, if I recall correctly, about two minutes into the interview I gushed, “Your English is wonderful, we love you, please come stay with us!” (you know, because we didn’t want to come off as desperate or anything.) Even the kids somehow knew that this interview was important: Sushi effortlessly wrote her name on a piece of paper (her newest trick), and Screamer did a rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” that could have melted even the hardest heart (if the puppy dog eyes didn’t getcha, the way she gets stuck in a loop around “like a diamond in the sky” would have put you over the top). Fortunately, our best behavior worked, and Alice— a kind-faced, 29-year-old Filipino mother of two— agreed to come for a two-day trial. (I never would have guessed coming in that we would have the disadvantage here, but I guess the combination of a large family plus a large house plus the mid-schoolyear timing of our arrival puts us in a not-so-desirable bargaining position re: housemaid hunting).

And so, after Daddy dropped Supernanny at the airport yesterday morning (I won’t even go into the details of the sobfest that took place the night before; suffice it to say that we are all silently devastated by Supernanny’s return to the US), he picked up Alice. It wasn’t intended to be so “out with the old, in with the new,” but there you are. I must say, for as much as I have enjoyed having her around for the past two days (the lady refuses to stop cleaning, even when I am begging her to take a break or eat) and believe that she is going to work out wonderfully (Baby stopped crying around her by the second hour of her being here, phew), there are some things that are going to take me some time to get used to. Not so much the way that she refers to Daddy as “Sir” and me as “Ma’am” (what does it say about me that I thought I would find this uncomfortable but I kind of enjoy it), but more the general subservient manner in which she conducts herself. I tried to start a casual conversation about her kids (aged 2 and 11, still living in the Philippines with her husband) but she only politely answered my direct questions; I asked her at the restaurant last night what she wanted for dinner and she only smiled and shifted uneasily. It wasn’t until the waitress, also Filipino, looked her straight in the eye and said, “You want a club sandwich? 7up ok?” that she nodded agreeably. This confounded me—I couldn’t tell if the waitress somehow just intuited Alice’s culinary preferences (perhaps club sandwiches are big in the Philippines?), or if it was simply the drill that housemaids were not typically given their pick of the menu; rather, they were told what was being offered and it was the housemaids’ job to politely and gratefully accept. Still not sure. Perhaps, if I can get Alice to open up a bit, one day I will find out.

The most poignant example of Alice’s boundless desire to please us took place this morning: The kids were getting dressed, and when they asked for frozen waffles for breakfast (go on, peanut gallery, insert a This-Mommy-can’t-even-find-the-toaster?? comment here, but just know that the children prefer their waffles frozen), I asked Alice if she would please get some out from the freezer. She said, “Yes, Ma’am” and dutifully disappeared to the kitchen. It was only later, when Daddy reported to me that he had discovered her standing in front of the open refrigerator, holding two red, waxy circles of Babybel cheese out to him and asking, “Is this waffles, Sir?” that I realized she had had no earthly idea of what I had been asking for.

And so the adjustment process begins. Alice is no Supernanny, and I’m sure will never even begin to approximate Supernanny’s hard-earned status as family member, but she is sweet and she likes to hold the baby and she sure can tidy a room, so we will do our best to make this work. I am posting a photo of Alice and Sushi cleaning some windows together; I took Sushi’s sudden interest in housekeeping to be a good sign.

Other updates:

School. Screamer and Sushi started at the local nursery school this past Sunday, and so far I would give their experience a B. We are all tickled by the fact that we can walk to school in the morning—it is about a 9 minute stroll made even more novel by the addition of a shamefully overpriced red Step 2 plastic wagon in which we can pull the kids—and both of their teachers make a great first impression. My reservations stem from the fact that Screamer has said, a few times in the morning, “I don’t want to go” (which almost surely means nothing but pains me nonetheless), and also that Sushi seems to be a little too advanced for the content being taught in her class (this is not intended to be horrible parental smugness; it’s just that she is already starting to sound out words on a page, while the class is learning the letter “P” this week). Daddy and I are going to inquire tomorrow about having Sushi moved up a level. We’ll see.

Having a driver. It’s actually not all it’s cracked up to be. Namely, I get mildly car sick in the back seat (Z-Man likes to take traffic circles and speed bumps at a higher-than-ideal velocity); sometimes I have to wait around for his availability (I am all for his doing laundry, but doesn’t he know that when Baby is crying maniacally, I have to get out of dodge ASAP?); and occasionally I feel that he is rolling his eyes at my request to be taken to the mall yet again (hey, dude, I have a whole giant house to make functional here). And I get this weird vibe off of him that I cannot help but attribute to my gender: he seems to have no compunction about interrupting me mid-sentence to tell us about some mildly interesting landmark we are passing, and, curiously, he calls me “Mommy” whilst he calls Daddy “Sir.” And he doesn’t speak directly to me even when I’m sitting in the same room—for example, just now he came in to speak to Daddy about tomorrow’s schedule, and he said to Daddy, “Will she want to go somewhere?” What’s that about??

The culture. I am still stuck on the abaya thing. There are a decent number of women wearing them at the malls, and I cannot help but check them all out. Sometimes it’s because of the lavish adornment (seriously, at least half of them have rhinestone trim) and other times it’s because of the incredible oppression that they suggest to me (I have heard many people assure me that they are largely worn by choice, but how free of a choice could it possibly be to cover everything but one’s eyes in black cloth while living in this desert heat?) (most abayas are worn with headscarves, though I have seen several women who also wear the veil over their faces, sometimes not even allowing their eyes to be shown). I am hopeful that I will make friends here with a woman who wears an abaya in public so that I might finally be able to get answers to some of my Womens’ Studies-inspired questions.

Overall assessment. Moving to Dubai has not been easy per se but I will give it this much: what an indulgence it is to be able to move to the other side of the planet and still find myself in a place where cars drive on the right side of the road as opposed to the left, people speak primarily English, the tap water doesn't upset my stomach, I can use my Visa card at stores like Starbucks and Toys ‘R’ Us and Claire’s boutique, “Sex and the City” is on the tv (with Arabic subtitles! and we’re not talking about the TBS version, either! can you just imagine the traditional Muslim values being sullied in that translator’s cubicle??), and Kellogg’s Cocoa Krispies are in my pantry (although here they go by “Coco Pops”). It’s kind of a small world after all, no?

And oh, by the way, happy Thanksgiving. Among other things, I’m thankful that you’re coming along on this journey with me. ☺