I am convinced that for an American, being a nanny in Turkey is one of the hardest roads you could choose to plow. Especially if you were raised by a totally fun, kick-ass liberal mother like Mumsy. One of the reasons my employers simultaneously love and fear me is because of how laid back I am. On the one hand, realizing what a tremendously stressful life a school-aged child has here in Turkey, my energy is a welcome change for her. However, I can also sense their concern that I may also be a bad influence on her in some way by encouraging her to giggle so much. I may be subtly dismantling her conditioning one laugh at a time.

I have kind of come to the position that Turkish mothers, for the most part, are over-bearing. They are very draconian, have extremely particular beliefs about how children should be raised. Working for them and adapting to these regulations has been no garden party.

I also think as a result, Turkish kids are just not having as much fun as I had growing up and that makes me sad. When the little lass’s parents go out of town, we do unspeakably forbidden things, which is why I am “the coolest nanny ever”. We climb trees, run around in the grass with no shoes on, jump in puddles when it rains. And whenever we do these things, the little lass has to remind me, “Don’t tell my Mom!” She also instructs the staff not to tell on us. Sad, sad, sad.

Turkish mothers are also incredibly strict about the body temperature of their children. “Don’t let her get cold!”, and “Don’t let her get sweaty!” are spoken with an implied vehemence akin to, “Don’t sell her to the gypsies!” or, “Don’t ride on the roof of the car!”
When we go to birthday parties, I always have a change of clothes for her lest she become sweaty while having fun. When we go swimming, I take about three bathing suits so she can immediately change upon getting out of the water. This is especially crucial when she is wearing a one piece. Should she remain too long in a wet one piece, her stomach can get cold, which can lead to digestive problems. Granted I never went to medical school, but that pretty much sounds insane to me. The little lass once said to me, “What did you guys do when you were little?” “Um, laid out in the sun and then jumped back in.” She was astonished by this.

Once I said to the mother, “You know in Scandinavia, they throw babies into the snow.” The look I received and the accompanying gasp told to me that what she actually heard was, “You know in Scandinavia, they feed babies to the wolves.”

The reason all of this has come to mind is because Mumsy has joined me on the nostalgia wagon that has been hitched up for my birthday. She sent me an email reminding me of goofy things she let us do as kids. I couldn’t help thinking how fired I would be if I ever let the little lass do any of these things. Such as:

Being pulled behind our Dad’s riding lawnmower on a big snow shovel at mach 5;snow or no snow. The little lass could never know this kind of fun. The gardener would never allow it.

Getting the baby crib mattress out of my brother’s bed and using it to slide down the stairs even though we slammed into the front door at the end of the ride. The little lass has marble stairs in her house. Her sister once slipped and broke her tailbone. There is no playing on those stairs.

Putting just a tad of liquid dish detergent on a big roll of plastic garbage bags and letting us slide down the hill. This is pretty much a ghetto Slip’n’Slide. Nothing like this is ever happening on the manicured grounds where I work. Ever.

Letting my brother Nick build the world’s most powerful potato guns and letting us blow everything from trees to the garden up with potatoes that traveled at supersonic speed.

Letting us drag each other through mud puddles on our bellies with just a garbage can lid for protection…usually in some new clothes we just got for school. As I mentioned before, rain puddles are forbidden. You can forget about mud puddles. Mud isn’t even permitted on the manicured grounds.

Using a giant sling shot to hurl water balloons at each other even though it felt like being hit with an AK47 and bruising ensued as a result.

Letting us make huge forts using the sofa cushions and the dining room table and anything else we chose to tear apart to make the fort complete. We made veritable fort cities all over the house and Mumsy never complained. She just vacuumed around them. The little lass has a whole wing of the house that is forbidden to us, unless her parents are entertaining and we are invited. We could probably make a fort in her room, but the maids would probably mumble about it.

Swimming during a rainstorm: the only rule was that once we heard thunder, everybody had to get out. We sometimes waited until we saw lightning like true rebels.

Letting us jump from the top bunk onto the mattress from the bottom bunk with our eyes closed so we could pretend we were flying. I’m pretty sure one of us even chipped a tooth this way. Man, that was good times! The little lass is not even allowed to jump on her bed, which is very close to the ground. So, guess who lets her jump on the bed when her parents are out of town? That’s right: the coolest nanny ever.