Bus Carer

As Brady, Liam & Rosie got onto the bus today, the bus carer informed our helper Chamry, that one of our children (I'll let you imagine which one) has been repeatedly naughty on the bus. In the words of Chamry, 'naughty naughty again and again, bus carer says to tell Sir (billy) please'.

Bus carer, much like invigilation and faffing around (see october 7 posting), is just another British English word I've had to get used to and secretly chuckle about. Only in this case, I was comforted by the English word. Bus Carer is far more pleasant than 'bus monitor', and on top of this, the carers are orderly and smiley, yet very serious about getting the kids safely buckled in. What's more, putting little 4-year-old Rosie onto the bus was a big step (for me) and the fact that two people are employed as 'carers' made the whole thing a little easier for this guilt-laden aspiring supermom to take.

But funny language aside, part of living in the Arab world is getting used to the help. Here at the office there's a gal who washes our coffee cups and freshens our break room and bathrooms througout the day. At the malls there is always an attendant in the bathroom for restocking and clean up and even help with your children. And at home, we are still getting used to the luxury of of having a helper. Chamry processes all of our laundry right down to the ironing of hankies, does the meal prep, lunch boxes, housecleaning, meets the kids' bus after school, and even runs errands by taxi if necessary. I couldn't be more grateful to her, as my transition into fulltime employee-hood in a new country would be so much more challenging without her.

But sometimes it's a little much, and you don't necessarily want the help. Or you don't care for them to know that you never finish your coffee, that your kids are picky about fruit, or that you've bought new blouses, or even that you prefer not to have your jeans ironed or your coffee cup emptied (I like the cold dregs two hours later). And on a more personal level, we now have both a helper AND two bus carers to (kindly and quietly) observe and pass judgement on our parenting.

It's bad enough to know one of your kids is creating havoc for the bus carer and likely other children, and that other parents get word of this from their kids who ride along with yours. I cringe to think that dinner conversation in a villa nearby includes 'Guess what that Watts kid did on the bus today'. But the transfer of this untidy information from the carers to our helper, to me and then billy makes me squirm with the discomfort of dirty laundry hung in the front yard.