#11 [B]Nature essay

At first glance this does not appear to be a nature essay, keep reading!

Every weekday morning I open the nursery at 8:30 promptly. My uniform consists of black stretch work out pants, a black t-shirt with the red and white Parisi Speed School logo on the back, and sneakers. I like that I get to wear soft comfy clothes as my ‘uniform.’ I work in the nursery within a fitness gym, where mothers drop off their children while they get in up to 2 hours of cardio and Pilates.

From the outside one would think I worked in a stuffy office building. Once I open the blacked out double doors the pumping upbeat music vibrates under my feet and a gust of air conditioning hits. I quickly mumble “Morning Joe” to the guy who is always behind the desk. I barely make eye contact and wonder, does he ever leave?! The track is to my right where young athletes train to improve their speed. The track itself is a light brown color surrounded by green asphalt in attempt to give the feeling of the outdoors. Making my way past the elliptical and treadmills I wave hello to the ladies trying to shed their baby weight. Turning to the left I hear the grunts of men with popping muscles furiously doing reps with intimidating barbells.

In the far corner all the way down the hall tucked into the back is the nursery. The door is made of glass which shows tiny smudgy hand and face prints towards the bottom. I flip on the light switch and the room is illuminated with neon bright white light, which is an awful contrast paired with the pale yellow walls. If I’m lucky I will have 5 minutes to myself where I can set up the sign in sheet, wipe down the tables [I never trust that this room is cleaned], and hide as many Barney videos as I can. I understand children love Barney, but if I hear those awful songs one more time I might scream. Putting The Sound of Music and Annie on display I cross my fingers in hopes that one of them will be picked.

The door opens while I’m still hiding videos, Elly comes running in rambling in a high pitched voice. Her mother is behind her holding baby Adrienne looking as if she has already put in a full days work. The girls are quickly signed in, the baby is handed over to me, and before I can wish their mother a good workout she is gone. Adrienne is about 7 months old with blue eyes, chubby cheeks, fair skin, and almost no hair- the epitome of androgynous babies. I wish I could take them outside its a sunny crisp morning. Unfortunatley there is no place to take them just a recently paved parking lot accompanied by a 4 lane busy Jersey road. The room is windowless so the door serves as our peak into the outside. Although darkened windows with thick blinds drawn hardly do us any justice. “Elly do you want to color? Watch a video?” I grabbed The Sound of Music, balanced Adrienne on my hip, and placed the tape into the VCR. I glance at Elly, she jumps up and down while yelling “Barney!!” I explain we’re watching a new video and try to distract her with different pictures to scribble on. Being 3 years old she happily follows directions as long as I talk with an excited voice.

With Elly coloring pictures and half of the little white table I sit on a mat in the corner with baby Adrienne. Every since I was 4 years old and my baby brother was brought home I adored babies and dreamed of being a mommy. I love when Adrienne grabs my finger for dear life. Her dimpled small hands with teeny tiny finger nails are beautiful to me. I lean against the wall and realize this is my favorite spot in the room, sitting with a baby under the large painted tree.

The tree is painted as if the roots were growing from the nubby blue carpet on the nursery floor. The yellow wall peers through the visible paint strokes of the bark. I hadn’t taken the time to wonder what kind of tree this was supposed to be and it is clear that the artist didn’t either. With a thick trunk made of interchangeable light and brown tones the branches reach out to the surrounding walls. Forest green oval shaped leaves adorn the thick branches, popping out without stems or reason. Looking up towards the ceiling an electrical outlet is supposed to be camouflaged, painted green and brown. How odd, why would there be an outlet all the way up there?

Upon examination I realize this is a pathetic attempt to recreate nature, but then again maybe the work is faulty because it is for children. The children of Parisi are too young to care about what type of tree is painted on their wall, all that matters is if they can identify what it is. I find this corner comforting because I have a clear view of the whole room where I can supervise, but relax with a child as well. This is the corner where I bounce and coo the babies and where I do story time with the toddlers. I have been drawn to this tree without recognizing its importance. Her imagined shade in this neon yellow room is comforting. I yearn for the outdoors daily, being inside the nursery I have been unknowingly sitting beneath what I crave.