Writing Samples

It is my responsibility to watch the kids before the ceremony and during the reception. Kourtney, Kim, and Khloe are wearing matching white dresses, with puffy sleeves, and a full, mid-calf length skirt. The beautiful garments are romantic and princess-like, and remind me of the dresses worn by the flower girls in Princess Diana’s wedding a decade ago. Each girl wears a circular headpiece of white and pink flowers. Little Robert sports a mini black tuxedo and perfectly shined black shoes. 

As I observe them and interact with them, I realize they each have unique and distinct personalities. 

Kourtney, who just celebrated her twelfth birthday, is a serious child, and always speaks her mind. She is definitely the leader. She seems unhappy and acts distant towards me all day. I wonder what is going on with her. 

Kim looks gorgeous. Even as a ten-year old child, she is stunning. She seems a bit on the quiet side but is sweet and friendly towards me. 

Khloe is a pistol. Full of energy, with a long, thick mane of curly hair.  She and Robert run all over the grounds of the mansion.  Here it is my first day, and I envision having to explain to my new boss, Kris, why her daughter has a ripped dress with grass stains before the ceremony and pictures. 

Little Robert is mostly sweet and precious, but he is a four year-old boy and has moments of mischievousness. He reminds me so much of “Charlie” from the movie The Santa Claus with Tim Allen. He has the same round “bowl” haircut, big brown eyes, and a sweet smile. 

As the kids take their place (dresses and tuxedo intact and clean), and the ceremony begins, I sit in a back row, as questions and thoughts swirl through my mind. Will the kids like me? Can I handle four? Will Kris be a good boss? Can I manage being a nanny, attending school full-time, and working at Gladstones? I hope I am up to the task. I hope I’ve made the right decision. 

As the reception winds down, I drive my four new charges home. What a huge and significant event for my initial day of work with my new family. I think to myself that it is appropriate that I get to share their “new beginning” with them. 

However, it is a lot of adjusting for everyone. New marriage, new step kids, the blending of three different sets of kids, and a new nanny. It is a lot for everyone to acclimate to and process. 

I feel somewhat lost. After several years, I had a well-established routine with Brandon and Brody. They knew my boundaries and rules, and what was negotiable and what wasn’t. Now, I am starting all over with four kids. It is not just double the work.  It's more like quadruple the work. 

I’m also dealing with the transition from boys who don’t care what they have on, what they look like, or if they get dirty, to three girls who are concerned with clothes, hair, and girly things. My tomboy background suited me well with Brandon and Brody. I was used to fishing, soccer, 

baseball, rough housing, and running around. It was more physical exertion. Now, I must put a lot more effort into emotional connections. Thank goodness I have little Robert who keeps me grounded. 

I feel overwhelmed for the first few days. I am still acclimating to a new house, a new room, and a new bed, not to mention five new personalities. I’m thankful for Bruce’s presence. For a while, though, I feel like a visitor. 

Bruce and Kris recently purchased the Malibu home we all now share. There is a long sidewalk leading up to the front door, which opens into a spacious, bright, open foyer. The living room is straight ahead with floor to ceiling glass, offering a brilliant view of the ocean. The back yard, which is beautifully manicured, has a huge pool, a jacuzzi, and patio furniture that I’d love to sink into for a catnap in the sun (if I ever had the time). The marble floor in the foyer leads to a huge kitchen opening to a spacious family room. The home is warm, comfortable, tastefully decorated in a casual way. Not too pretentious or ostentatious. 

I am thrilled to find out that Sean Penn used to own the house during the time when he was dating Madonna. As I walk through the house, I feel reverent. I'm treading upon the same floors that were likely once graced by a music icon. When I’m home alone, I sing “Like a Prayer” and dance through the halls, wondering to myself if Madonna sang the same words to Sean right here in this house. 

Bruce and Kris delay their honeymoon, but as a newlywed, Kris has many other things on her mind besides training me, which I completely understand. I am on my own for the first few days, so I wing it as best I can. Thankfully, a few days later, Kris makes time to go over my role, responsibilities, rules, and expectations. I make it clear to Kris that the most important priority in my life is school. We agree on a schedule that will work around my school commitments. 

“Oh and I’ll need you to cook dinner for us most nights. When Bruce and I are around, plan for ten,” Kris adds, which sends shivers done my spine. The only “cooking” I’ve done up until now was mainly for the boys. Simple kid food like Hamburger Helper, mac and cheese, hot dogs, and heating up food in the microwave.

Back in junior high school, I took a class called Home Economics, where Mrs. Oachs taught us how to be excellent housewives, but I never seemed able to get the hang of it. I burned the butterscotch pudding, made a cake that was flat as a pancake, and squeaked out a decent grade only because the cute yellow and white striped sundress I sewed was actually wearable, even though it had some crooked seams. That early experience haunts me. I guess I actually have a fear of failure when it comes to cooking. 

“Kris, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t really know how to cook,” I say quietly, not sure how she will respond. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know how?” she asks, looking at me incredulously. 

“Well, I can make mac and cheese, hamburger helper, hot dogs, fix lunches, heat up microwave meals, but I’m not like a chef or anything. I don’t really know how to prepare gourmet meals.” I’m talking quickly, nervous that she will be upset. 

“Oh that’s no problem,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It doesn’t have to be gourmet. I’ll teach you some easy dishes.” 

And she does. We start with her favorite recipe, Pasta Primavera. She works with me in the kitchen, explaining each step. A few nights later, she shows me how to make barbeque chicken, baked potatoes, garlic cheese bread, and a mixed green salad with veggies. Before long, I have a whole repertoire of dishes: pasta with fresh tomato sauce and basil, noodles with broccoli and olive oil, homemade tacos, roasted chicken with vegetables, and spaghetti with meatballs. 

Over the course of the next couple weeks, I develop a routine. My alarm goes off about five o’ clock each morning. Crawling out of bed still half asleep, I shuffle into the kitchen in my pajamas and get the Starbucks Breakfast Blend brewing in the coffee maker. Kris asked me on my first day to prepare a tray with cups, cream and sugar, and a steaming carafe of coffee to leave outside their bedroom door each morning. I consider buying a hotel maid’s outfit and getting one of those little signs you hang on the doorknob, so they can notify me when they need assistance or don’t want to be disturbed. I think it would be funny, but they might not find it too amusing, so I drop the idea. 

My “breakfast” is usually a cup of the Starbucks coffee and three or four vanilla sandwich cookies (one of the kids’ favorites). I’m always running late and trying to get ten things done at once, so I don’t have time to sit down and eat. We often keep fresh baked muffins in the kitchen, and occasionally I quickly grab the muffin top off to eat for my breakfast. This aggravates Bruce tremendously. 

“Who took the muffin top?” I hear him yell from the kitchen. “Pam!” 

Once I awaken all four kids, I then make sure the younger two are dressed. Kourtney and Kim wear uniforms (thank goodness or I can imagine we’d have a lot more drama in the mornings) and are independent enough to get themselves dressed, so I don’t have to worry about that. I just need to make sure they are awake. 

I help Khloe and Robert get something for breakfast, usually dry cereal, a muffin and fruit, or a bagel and cream cheese. While they eat breakfast, I pack their lunches. No two lunches are the same, as they each have “favorites” and certain things they dislike. I usually pack a sandwich, a piece of fruit, a bag of chips, a juice box, and cookies. Khloe and Robert love Oreos, and Kourtney and Kim prefer the vanilla sandwich cookies. Next, I spend a few minutes going over the “to do” list for the day with Kris, who awakens early but spends the morning getting herself ready. 

Kourtney and Kim spend all their time in the morning getting ready and usually grab something quick for breakfast on the way out the door, a muffin or a breakfast bar. Sometimes, they grab a bag of dry cereal and eat it in the car on the way to school. All five of us pile into the car, and we’re on our way.

The three different schools they attend are not close in proximity. Although we live in Malibu, Kourtney and Kim attend a private school in Beverly Hills. After chauffeuring the older girls, I head back to Malibu to take Khloe to Kindergarten and Robert to preschool. Taking the four kids to their three different schools takes about an hour. Racing back to the house to drop off the car, I sprint up seven or eight flights of stairs at the University to try and make it to class on time. More often than not, I am late.

At noon every day, I leave Pepperdine, pick up the car, drive to the preschool and pick up Robert, drop him at home with the maid, and head back to class for the afternoon. When I finish my classes for the day, I get Robert and the car from the house, drive to Khloe’s elementary school and scoop her up, and then drive back to Beverly Hills to pick up Kourtney and Kim at private school. Usually, Kris has given me a few errands to take care of before finally heading home.

My nanny job ends when the kids go to bed, which is about nine o’clock for Khloe and Robert, and around ten o’clock for Kourtney and Kim. But my day is not yet over. Exhausted as I may be since starting the day at five a.m., it is time to study. More often than not, I fall asleep with my head buried in a book. I’m surprised I get decent grades at Pepperdine, as little as I study. 

My room at the Kardashian home used to be a storage room and pantry. It is about eight feet wide and ten feet long. The full sized bed fills most of the room with only about two feet on the edge of the bed. The room doesn’t have a closet (it is a closet) or a desk, just a tiny little nightstand. It doesn’t bother me though. I am rarely in my room, except for late at night. It is a place to study and sleep. Mostly sleep. 

My list of duties also includes personal shopper. Once a week, usually on the weekend, I make a trip to the grocery store, and fill up two shopping carts full of food. Kris has a list of regular items that I am to purchase each week. In addition, I usually make one or two additional runs to the store during the week for special items or to stock up if we run out of a staple item. 

After a disagreement one day over a missing item from the grocery list — broccoli — the tension in the room is so thick you can almost see it. I think to myself, Oh my gosh, what have I done? Why am I here? This lady really doesn’t like me. During my conservative Midwest upbringing with a prim and proper mother, I’d never heard a lady talk to me the way she just did. I am quite certain I’ve made a huge mistake in coming to work for Kris and mentally start packing my bags. However, I have four kids who are depending on me, and it is important for me to be a stable force in their lives. I resolve not to let Kris get to me. But given the way Kris has just reacted about something as seemingly non-important as broccoli, I decide that isn’t realistic, so for the time being I settle on not quitting...yet.

The next day, Kris apologizes.  I think. If you can call it an apology. 

“Are you mad at me, Pam? Wouldn’t you rather I speak my mind and be done with it? Or would you rather have me act like nothing is wrong, when there is something wrong?” 

I don’t know how to respond. In her mind, her actions are completely rational. To me, her response to the “missing broccoli” is utterly irrational. 

I am beginning to realize that Kris says what is on her mind in the moment that it happens. Whatever she is feeling, she communicates it — good, bad, or ugly. She is a perfectionist, very detail oriented, and has high expectations. She doesn’t hold back. 

I must admit, though, it is probably better for her to vent rather than feel the retribution of resentment later. Nevertheless, these moments when she “speaks her mind” can be tough to take. I am an emotional person, and I’m still just a kid. 

I feel like I am trying so hard all of the time, and she doesn’t recognize my effort. She points out the failures but doesn’t compliment the good things I am doing. 

Along with my nanny duties, I am also Kris’s “personal assistant,” which means taking care of all the errands and tasks it takes to run a household so she can focus on business projects for Bruce and herself. 

I never know each day what I will be doing or where I will be going, only that I have to get everything on my “to do” list done. Which amounts to a great deal of pressure, considering I also have four kids to take care of, a full schedule of college courses, and a second job.  Thank goodness I am young and have a lot of energy. Even so, I’m sure I am single-handedly increasing the stock price of Starbucks with all the coffee I drink. 

Despite how challenging it is at times to be working for Kris, there are many things I admire about her. I have never before been around such a driven and savvy businesswoman. I look up to her and learn a lot from her. Growing up in a small town in a rural area, I had not been exposed to any strong businesswomen as role models, so it is quite amazing to watch Kris in action. When she puts her mind to something, she does not stop until she has accomplished what she set out to do. She is tenacious and does not take “no” for an answer. I’m not used to working for someone who sets the bar so high — for herself and for me. There are occasions I end up in tears. 

Maybe she thinks I don’t take her list seriously, which is not the case. I feel anxiety during the day as unforeseen obstacles like traffic interfere. I’m a people pleaser, and when I fail, it really bothers me. 

It is becoming clear to me that life in this home is going to be busy, fun, and exciting, with never a dull moment, but also extremely challenging at times. 

Because Bruce and Kris travel so much, they need someone at home to watch the kids and manage the household. I realize, as their nanny, I am not just a caretaker, but I am also a surrogate mom in a way. I fell in love with these kids very quickly, and I now love them as if they are my own. I assume, and hope, that’s what Kris wants. 

I allow myself to feel like a member of the family, because for the most part, Bruce and Kris treat me as such. There are times, however, when I have to remind myself that I am not a family member. I am paid (and paid well) to do this job. It is a strange dichotomy, this nanny thing. Live with the family full time, love the kids, pour yourself into them, spend every spare moment of your life taking care of them and their needs, but don’t forget, when it comes down to it, you’re just the nanny. Allowing my emotions to become too invested or expecting to be treated as an equal member of the family would most assuredly end in hurt feelings, so I attempt to keep my status and position in the forefront of my mind. 

I reflect on the list of rules I wrote on the bus a couple of years ago, as I was about to meet Linda Jenner. I assumed that if I stuck to this list, I would be successful, my employers would be happy with me, and the kids would be content and well behaved. 

After my first few months at the Kardashian home, I have one more rule to add to the top of that list. 

1. Do not EVER forget the broccoli.