I have a childminder for Pest n.1 and n.2.

Pest n.2 spends an inordinate amount of time with her. Let's call her Rosie. Pest n.1 gets occasionally picked up from the bus stop, and spends an hour or so doing his homework at Rosie's house.

Rosie is an unusual childminder. For a start, she is not overweight, slovenly, oldish or grumpy. She is not ugly, she does not hold a yearly membership at Mcdonald's. She does not shout or punish.

Hell, my childminder actually LIKES children.

I have never, ever called her with an emergency only to be turned down. Rosie does not let down, nor does she charge by the minute. I am always late, but she does not look at the clock. She feeds my child without being asked, or indeed without working an extra charge into the fees. She cooks home-made meals, and loves animals.

It takes me an hour to drop Pest N.2 off and then go to work - she lives in the opposite direction. She cannot help a lot with Pest n.1's homework because, frankly, her spelling, English and general knowledge are not that brilliant.

Her accent is also not particularly Sloany.

Tonight, as I collected Pest n.2 and asked her AGAIN to let me have the bill for this month (she cares so little for the money, although she earns a pittance, that she won't even work out the monies until I force her) she proudly announced that today MY child did well at spelling, wrote beautifully, and read even better.

Pest n.2 is not... how can I put it... academically gifted. When I complained last month about my lack of time to follow his efforts and make sure he works as hard as he can, Rosie decided to take it upon herself to help him.

'So, what did you do last night?' I asked her. She has recently separated and has been going through a tough time. Last night was her 'night off', as the ex takes the children away for one day or so.

'I... went out...'

Her blond hair flicked as she turned her face away. She has pretty features, and young, sad eyes.

Rosie.

Actually.

Blushed.

At the end of 2009, when teenagers get pregnant with the same ease with which they eat an icecream, when little boys tell my eight-year-old all the swear words I only learnt when I was eighteen, when there is no God, no morality, no values and no hope, my 29-year-old fantastic, caring, pretty and lovely childminder actually blushed because....

....

'I went to the cinema with a man. It was... a date.' She whispered it as if it were a big dark secret.

I looked at her in awe. If she blushes about going out on an innocent date, and to the cinema, what would happen if this guy tried to kiss her?

I am a guilty mother. With little time, and little patience. I shout, and rush things. I feel guilty most of the time.

I try my utmost to give my boys the best, most loving structure around them to support the young years of their innocent lives.

I have made mistakes. Hell, I have survived my mistakes, and paid for them ten-fold.

But I have chosen the best nanny I could possibly have.

This is for you, Rosie. You will never read this post, but I shall make sure you always know how much I value you.