Fancy Therapy Tales

I could literally just post sessions with my Fancy Therapist up here and it would probably more entertaining than anything else I could write. And it might actually be beneficial to some of you. After all many of my problems are just like yours: how to get your husband to do what you want, how to overcome your guilt as a working mother, how to deal with your mother ignoring your rules as a parent. Then again, there are probably some very clear differences in my issues and the Fancy solutions. Oh, let me just replay the conversation.

“So, what did you and H talk about?” I asked, failing at any attempt to appear nonchalant.

“Basically I told him that if he wants to live the life he lives and not have to get off his ass and change lightbulbs or dirty nappies, then he is going to have to spend a lot of money making sure his wife has all the help she needs. He will have to pay many people—and probably over pay most of the time—to keep the house running smoothly and minimize your stress as much as possible.”

Well that would explain why he said nothing when I told him that we’re giving Nanny #1 a raise and a new title: House Manager, which makes her just about one of the highest paid nannies in London. Her new job means she is in charge of finding and interviewing the new person who will be filling in for her when she cuts back on her hours. And rather than have multiple people dropping by for “their shift,” she will make sure that there is a more global approach to the jobs that must be done. In other words, if she can’t get shit done before she goes, it’s up to her to make sure that the next person does.

I will never, ever, have to scrape a mixture of dried sand and applesauce off the pram ever again.

Then I proceeded to tell him about my latest travel adventure with the little ones and the rudeness of the flight attendants when they saw me with two toddlers, actually telling me that I needed to find another person to hold one of them rather than strap her into the seat that I had paid for!

Fancy Therapist interrupted. “Wait, were you flying economy? What the fuck. This is exactly what I spoke to your husband about. How can you get the level of service and assistance you need when travelling alone with small children if you are sitting in the cattle hold? If he can’t be with you and he isn’t paying someone to travel alongside you, then you sit up front. Period.”

Oh I love my therapist.

I mentioned to H that FT was pretty upset that I’d been flying alone with the girls in economy class. H wasn’t terribly pleased.

“Oh I don’t remember him saying that. Uh, I don’t agree with that, necessarily,” said the man who flies so often they send him directly to the plane across the tarmac in a limo.

Well, I guess I smell another therapy session for Mr. Fancy coming up, don’t I?