So, today is my last bit of nannying. Hallelujah! Never in my life, and hopefully never again. As I just now talked to my employer on the phone about how many hours I worked last week, I was given all reason in the world not to put any effort in today at all.

Last Thursday Emily's father dropped her off at my house at around 10:30. Typically I make the long ass drive out to their house and receive not monetary compensation for it, but this afternoon she and I were going to get lunch in town and go to a pottery painting place so her father brought her to me. After Emily arrived I jumped in the shower, leaving her in my living room watching the telly. When I returned to the den from my shower, Emily didn't look so hot.

"Are you tired, Emily; do you need to take a nap?"
"I don't feel good"
"How don't you feel good?"
"I feel like I'm going to throw up"

I leapt in to action. I sprang to my parents bathroom and grabbed the anti-nausea medicine. I rushed back into to the den, where Emily was lying on my mother's week-old couch. As I poured the medicine into the medicine cup, I realized I had made a grave mistake.

Emily looked me in the eye with an expression of discomfort, and then preceded to vomit on my mothers new love (the couch) and all over the carpet. I couldn't believe it.

"We have to get you to the bathroom, Emily!"

But it was too late. She threw up once more in my living room and once she was in the bathroom nothing else came out.

I called her mom, and she came to pick Emily up. She of course offered no hand in cleaning her own child's breakfast off my carpet or couch. And seemed reluctant to give me credit for any hour's of work that day just now when I spoke with her on the phone.

My new rule, no only children. I'm so over it. Her mother told me at the beginning of the summer she'd help pay my gas, and she only once gave me money in the name of gas--$7.

Maybe I can talk my dad in letting me borrow my back bone for a bit and I can get all that gas money I'm owed.

Just when you think you're growing up and becoming capable of handling yourself, Dad says "hey sweetie" and the back bone you had disappears.

See, my father left for London for two weeks and not only didn't he tell me at any point in the summer that he was going to go, but he also didn't tell me the day he left that he was leaving. I found out that night when he didn't come home. I was irate. I planned all these speeches to give him when he returned. This was the straw that broke the camel's back and he was going to hear all the things that he'd been doing lately that I found to be inconciderate or unfair. Just wait Pops, you'll get it when you get back.

After picking up DB I returned home and he was there, sitting in the Lay-Z-boy. I walked in and talked straight to my mom. Ignoring that he had returned. If he expected to slip away unnoticed was it so much for me to want him to just slip back in with no big to-do? My mom didn't let it slide and made me give him a hug...I one armed him. I was preping myself. As soon as mom and DB left I was going to tear into him....I just went to my room with no word, saying I felt bad and was going to lay down.

That night I dreamt my mother had left my family saying she couldn't take it anymore. My dream father didn't try to stop dream mom. I woke up crying. Ran to my mom and hugged her. Dad was in the front of the house, I cried some more.Pulling myself together I dressed in what I determined were adult-like clothes. This was it. This was the time.

I marched into the den. Dad said, "Goodmorning, Sweetie."

"Mornin' Dad" I replied, as I walked past, bit my tongue, and remained silent.