Here comes one grubby little hand and then the other, followed by a head with tousled hair and giant eyes looking up at me; yellowish-green snot on its slow journey from nostril to mouth.
It’s almost like watching someone give birth.
Next comes the shoulders and the rest of the body…
“Psst.”
“Psst.”
“PSSST.“
“Go on. GO. Get outta here. Go back to your Mommy.”
“GO!!!“
I open the door.
“Who does this child belong to?”
“Would the owner of this child get it out of my dressing room? NOW!”
A changing room at the end of the hall opened and a head sticks out,
“Oh, Alex, there you are. Come to Mommy, OK?”
“No, it’s not OK, you need to control your child. It’s not right to let him wander away from you and bother people, and by people, I mean ME.”
Her response to me was a sound that sounded like a cross between a slight cough and a cat hacking up a hairball.
“Ack” plus an eyeroll.
” ACK yourself. And don’t roll your eyes at me. Kindly keep your Peeping Tom DNA out of my dressing room.”
This happened today at H&M. A child crawled under the door into a changing room where I was in panties and bra.
This is not the first time I’ve been spied on by strange children while trying on clothes.
It doesn’t matter if it’s Nordstrom or Target or Anthropologie or Bloomingdales or a restaurant. I’ve even been interrupted in public bathrooms.
One time at Anthropologie, that bastion of successfully marketing high priced clothing and home goods to a specific demographic of women who aspire to a certain type of quasi-sophisticated worldliness, I witnessed an encounter between a very polite salesperson and the mother of an unsupervised child who had been systematically destroying the intricate and beautiful window display. (FYI, Anthro is known for its aesthetic window displays.)
She walked over to the mom who was engrossed in the Manic Pixie Dreamgirl dresses with birds and bows and said,
“I’m sorry, but could you ask your child not to play inside the window display?”
The mom’s attitude was one of entitlement and total abdication of responsibility for the actions of her offspring. I left the shop, shaking my head.
I’m a reasonable woman, really I am.
I’m an empty nester; I don’t have a young child 24/7/365. But I’m not to be dismissed as an old codger who’s just menopause-cranky from low estrogen levels.
I can say unequivocally that my son not only never ran around like a savage, he never once wandered away from me and became a voyeur.
Please moms, plan for your excursions. It’s not difficult. Bring a small toy, a book, a healthy snack, paper and crayons–that’s all it takes 90% of the time. They’ll be happily occupied and it’s a win-win for everyone. So simple, really.
Parenting Tip #1…Meet their needs before your own.
I just don’t get it. What’s the theory behind the practice of going out in public with your kids, but pay no attention to them and ignore every damn thing they do?
What type of denial is that?
“Oh, my kid? I have a kid? Oh, I forgot.”
I’m not even talking about the poor babies who are screaming that signature tired scream– who only want to be at home in their familiar surroundings, fed, and put down for a nap.
I just don’t see how those kinds of moms justify pawing through the racks at TJ Maxx when they have a child who really needs some loving parenting–someone who isn’t selfishly shopping for things they don’t really need– and takes proper care of their child.
Come on! It’s not just that you’re ruining my blissful retail therapy experience–although you are–but what about stranger danger and all that? If you can’t see your kids, someone could harm them in some way. What happened to holding their hand in public?
Sarah Jessica Parker does…
I could say things like why don’t you have fewer children if you can’t properly care of the ones you have, but that’s never well received, I can tell you from personal experience.
And I don’t mean this. That’s definitely not the answer!
I hope I haven’t offended any readers or bloggers who still have kids at home, but I’m really perplexed!
What do you think is the cause and solution for unsupervised children in public?
(Worst of all, I didn’t come away with one single purchase. The Zen of my retail therapy day was destroyed.)
Here’s today’s Daily Prompt Challenge: Hindsight. Now that you’ve got some blogging experience under your belt, re-write your first post.
This is MY deja vu–my first blog re-do–obviously my life is a deja vu redo Groundhog Day repeat. The captain was gone again, I was alone for a very long time…I’ve learned to use tags since then–maybe THIS time it’ll get read!
“…We sail tonight for Singapore, don’t fall asleep while you’re ashore” Tom Waits
Day 60: Alone again! It’s 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening and I just completed a copy editing assignment for a brilliant young neuroscientist. Since my first pink lock and key diary at the age of eight, I’ve filled notebooks and journals with my thoughts and observations, and even minored in creative writing in college, but the hardest thing in the world for me to do is to let go of my own words. (I’m a word hoarder. Hah!)
Update: Now I’m a word spewer–since I started blogging, I can’t STOP writing!
Although I easily re-write and proof and edit the work of others (and love to do it), my own words seem to be trapped somewhere; I am never quite satisfied with the finished product; I always feel that one more re-write is always needed—just one more, and then another and another–and I am determined to overcome this obstacle by blogging about my life as a wife of a Merchant Mariner. To other MM wives, I’d love to share our experiences, problems, frustrations, and solutions. There are thousands of us around the world—let’s create a community and help one another. What do we all do when our guys are gone? In what ways do our lives change when they’re away on assignment and when they’re home? How do we cope with the work-related absence of a spouse, whether it’s due to the military, MM, or any other career that involves a lot of travelling? Are you sad? Maybe relieved sometimes, if you were to be completely honest?
Update: Still hoping to create the community of Merchant Mariner Wives. I’ve met Snipewife who’s awesome, but there has to be others! Come out and play!
Also, from time-to-time, I will review either a product I’ve used or a book I’ve read and share my opinion. I have great things to say about Sally Hansen Smooth and Perfect nail polish. I have it in Satin 04. It claims to hide ridges and imperfections with a “breathable porcelain-smooth finish.” The website says it’s enhanced with ginseng, camellia oil, and lotus to promote stronger, healthier nails. I was really impressed with the finished product and it really does give a professional look. I’m going to try it in other colors and will let you know. Update: it worked great, very shiny, lasts a decent amount of time, and is inexpensive.
Here’s a mini-version of my back story: I’m a (was a) stay-at-home mom; when my son left for college, I stayed home. Don’t you think that’s funny? I do. That’s my standard joke/response when I’m asked what I “do”. Some people think it’s funny, some people think I’m obnoxious. Story of my life.
I’ve been married to a Merchant Mariner tugboat captain for about eighteen years, nineteen in February 2013. For the first fourteen years or so, our life was pretty ordinary and except for a few assignments that took him away for a week or so, his schedule kept him working in local ports. In 2009, he changed companies and became the kind of Merchant Marine who goes out to sea for extended periods of time and travels to the four corners of the globe. When I tell people that my husband is a MM, most either think he is a “Marine Marine” or they don’t know what a Merchant Mariner is or what they do. My guy is an academy graduate (he won’t let me say which one ‘cos he’s paranoid that someone will figure out who he is) and has been working in the industry since graduation.
What exactly is a Merchant Mariner?? For those of you who don’t know, the United States has a fleet of Merchant Marine vessels, ships which are owned and registered in the US and fly under our flag, but are separate from the military. (We are proud supporters of American-flagged vessels.) For example, car ships carry cars (obvs!), container ships hold cargo of TVs, bananas, soda ash, or even sand and gravel.
NOT the captain’s tug, but a good photo of a tug pushing and pulling a barge. Tugs are hard little workers. I think I can, I think I can…
The Merchant Marine supplements the military in times of war, transporting goods and equipment to areas where it is needed. The people who crew Merchant Marine vessels are known as Merchant Mariners. Perhaps you remember hearing about the Maersk Alabama, a container ship seized by pirates a few years ago? Tom Hanks stars as the captain in the soon-to-be released film of the Navy Seals’ rescue of the ship and her crew. People who work on tugboats are called Merchant Marines. My guy is a tug and tow Master, although he has decades of experience on yachts, passenger vessels, and just about every type of boat, excluding fishing. No Deadliest Catch stories here! Tugboats pull (or push) barges all over the world, assist all types of ships in and out of their berths, and work in marine construction and the oil industry. It is really more complex that than, with a rich history and great anecdotes, but I am only the wife of, and my perspective is a different one.
Update: I begged and pleaded and guilted and flattered my captain to get him to audition for the Tom Hanks pirate film–they liked his initial video audition so much the casting director even sent sides (that’s a script to those of you who are NOT in the know like I am), but he didn’t get the part. He really should have. I was totes planning to go as his personal manager to Morocco where they were filming.
Back to my story…this lifestyle has been quite an adjustment. When he’s home, he’s a 24/7 at-home husband, just like being retired, and a different routine ensues–one of compromise and diplomacy. When he’s away at sea, I become a sort of “grass widow” (awoman whose husband is away from home frequently or for a long time, as on business) and have learned to structure my time alone to stay occupied while waiting for my best friend to come home. We modern mariner wives are really no different than wives of a few hundred years ago whose husbands went out to sea. We might have email access and satellite telephones, and are able to stay in touch more frequently than the occasional letter posted from faraway ports, but we are essentially on our own for a great deal of time. We have to be completely independent and solve problems and fix broken washing machines and cars and take out the trash and mow the lawn by ourselves, unless we have kids still living at home on whom we can foist these chores.
My confession du jour? I fully rely on retail therapy to help me cope. That doesn’t mean I actually PURCHASE a lot and spend a lot of money, rather, I am an accomplished fashionista BROWSER, (which should be an Olympic sport, as far as I’m concerned.) I have endurance and I possess stamina. I’m a hunter AND a gatherer. A shot of wheatgrass and I’m good to go for hours in my quest for a treasure, a good deal, or something I just have to have, and can’t live without; the next get. You know that Shopaholic film? I’ve seen it about a dozen times; it’s like a training film for me… A day or so after my MM leaves, I fortify myself with a protein drink, a double shot of wheatgrass, and lay out my itinerary with quasi-military precision. I first make the rounds of my local stores; TJ Maxx, Marshalls, Ross, Target, Homegoods, just like a warm-up in my boot camp class, and then move on to H&M, Anthropologie, White Market/Black House. After that, I venture further away to the Nordstrom Outlet, DSW (yes!!!), and then our local mall for Bloomies, Nieman Marcus, and the boutiques-Tory Burch, Hermes, and the holy grail at South Coast Plaza in the OC…Chanel…Chanel…Chanel. I want/need a Chanel 2.55, the original black quilted bag with the chain strap. I am saving for a pilgrimage to Paris to pay homage to Coco at the original location. I. can’t. wait.
Update: I just can’t do it to y’all again, I know I’m probs on your last nerve with the whole Chanel thing, but it was cool for ME to tell myself, “Hey girl, your dream DID come true! Way to go to think it, believe it, and it will happen!”
Today, I was on the hunt for another blazer; blazers are super trendy and forever a classic fashion staple, but it has to be the right blazer in the right color and cut. I ended up at a local consignment shop and while I didn’t find the desired blazer, I discovered the treasure of a Tory Burch sweater with gorgeous logo buttons. I found a similar style for around $250, and I got it for $40. It’s in perfect condition and looks like it’s never been worn. The pic doesn’t do it justice; it’s a rich cocoa brown with TB logo buttons and totes adorbs. Update: This is the same consignment shop where I just scored the vintage Valentino.
Well, it’s back to editing for me and building my Etsy store where I can sell all the ropework jewelry and beachy décor we create. I hope you’ve enjoyed this first glimpse into my world.
Update: STILL working on that Etsy store! Almost done tho, hopefully so I won’t completely miss the holiday season…
Thanks to one and all who’ve read me and followed me and commented and offered guidance and humor and friendship. The world still revolves around me, I suppose it always will…alas, that’s the cross my long suffering tugboat captain must bear…And if you’ve un-followed me, don’t forget that Santa could leave a lump of coal in your stocking, so maybe y’all need to rethink that decision. Right???
Quick, I have about an hour of FREEDOM, sweet freedom–while the kids are surfing. Don’t tell them I took an unauthorized break. I need to share our fun family game. It’s the ultmate in reality based charades. It’s like the Amazing Race and The Real World meet Downton Abbey. Actually, it really IS Downton Abbey or Upstairs, Downstairs. I play the role of the entire downstairs staff. My son, his wife, and her sister embody the aristocracy. Have you heard the phrase, “To the manor born”? I found its possible first use in Shakespeare’s Hamlet:
Ay, marry, is’t:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour’d in the breach than the observance.
The leave their dirty and stained clothes on the floor outside their bedroom doors to let me know that it’s time for a wash. Yesterday they needed help finding a fresh roll of toilet tissue. Heaven forbid they’d change it themselves. I need to be reminded that it’s not their place to do such menial tasks. That’s what I’m for, I can’t forget that! Just now, I went into their bathroom and spied three empty rolls strewn about the floor, even though the wastebasket is about three steps away.
I’m not f-ing kidding you.
How many Ph.D.s does it take to actually find the trash? Apparently more than I have in the house at the present time. Here’s the photo proof…
Hurricane Angel Boy touched down here in SoCal. Enjoy the pic, I gotta go!
Cowboys and Crossbones and a few others have requested pix of the new addition to our family: my Grand Shopper Tote Chanel. I appreciate any opportunity to show off; I’m a proud mama. She went on her first outing today, first to Target, then Trader Joe’s, and up the street to Anthropologie, B/W Market, and Nicole Miller. At each location, I was treated with so much more respect and deference than usual, when I carried my old Louis Vuitton. Peasants! I’m the same girl who wears bleach stained sweats and old Yale shirts with so many holes they wouldn’t even be useful as rags. Please enjoy these pix and thank you for your interest!
The driftwood is from an area we call Old Man’s (yes, the apostrophe is properly placed) in Carlsbad. I think it is just a term we coined because that’s where all the old men longboarders go surfing. I mean really old men who should never ever everEVER go without a shirt or rash guard, if you get my meaning. If I ever in my wildest dreams desire to see wrinkly old skin that has lost all elasticity and collagen along with saggy, deflated breasts, I’ll look in the mirror, thank you very much! (When DIL sends me the pic she took of a guy who was a Neptune look-a-like, I’ll post it. That pic will be worth the proverbial thousand words. Nuff said on that subject.)
The sage is from my garden. I’m not quite sure where the sand dollar came from or the other shell. I wish there was some way to label each and every treasure I acquire, because there is no way to recall time or place! We have a California native garden with several kinds of sage, ceanothus, lemonade berry, manzanita, rosy buckwheat, and coyote bush. The vase is from Anthropologie.
Maybe it was because I was really missing the captain yesterday, I’m not sure if that’s it, (it’s as good an excuse an any other) but I woke up with a thirst, a hunger–for some retail therapy. Ha ha! Except for the Chanel makeup, I have been generally frugal for a while, and I think I totally deserve something fall-like and cute. I have some friends who despair at my choice of work-out clothes. Apparently, I am not worthy of being seen with them unless I wear the label of choice–Lululemon. I had resisted for so long, but I conceded defeat and surrendered to their nagging. Fortunately for me, Lululemon and Anthropologie are in the same shopping center. I went to Anthro first and found the loveliest AG Stevie jeans in an intense emeraldy/peacocky blue. I went across the parking lot to Lulu and although I am reluctant to admit it, the clothes looked really well made. I tried on a pair of black “Wunder Under” cropped pants in a fabric I had never heard of before; luon. I don’t think I’ve ever spent $72 on clothing for the gym, but then of course I had to have the matching jacket at $99. My mom used to say, “It’s only money” and I never understood what she meant, but I figure now is a good time to repeat that aphorism.
In other news, the garden cucumbers I pickled already taste really good. I had added a little dried chile to a couple of jars and it imparted a deliciously hot and savory flavor.