April 12th, 2010
I wrote the post below instead of doing what I should have done which was to call the establishment directly and ask them about the sign. Instead, I did what I can’t stand and got passive-aggressive about it on the Internet. (I am currently punching myself in the face for this, btw.)
I’ve decided to leave it as-is. But wanted everyone to know that I was the one in the wrong here. And I apologize for how I handled the situation. Furthermore, I would like to thank Amy 2 for actually doing what I should have done in the first place.
Yay, sweet stranger!
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I usually stay away from topics like this one because I’m too much of a pussy anymore to deal with online backlash, but I can’t help it this time.
My lollipop adventure has me frequenting a baking supply store in Manhattan. This store has everything I need and at relatively decent prices. Plus, they sell in bulk. They’re also fairly convenient for me to get to—a mere 8 blocks from the 6th Avenue stop on the L.
A few weeks ago, Toby Joe, Emory and I headed into the city together. It was a Saturday morning. When we arrived, I saw the following sign:
I was annoyed, but fine—whatever. Toby Joe was there, so they waited outside while I rushed around for what I needed.
Fast forward to this week. I had rush order that had to get out. I wanted to get there quickly and immediately. I was preparing to take Emory into the city on the subway with me (I only have the nanny for a few hours each week) and remembered the sign. Since parking in that area during the week is impossible, I had three choices: I could leave the stroller behind and make him walk the 8 blocks from the subway which, as many of you know who’ve spent time with a 2-year-old, would take us forever; I could bring leave the stroller outside and hope that it doesn’t get stolen; or I could just not go and wait until I had someone to watch him.
I opted to wait. The order would have to wait. This is a “First World” problem. I know that.
But this is what I kept thinking: Why? Why are strollers banned from the store. Would a wheelchair be banned from the store? How about a walker? Why just strollers. And so I started to get upset about it—probably a little too upset because, considering in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t that big of a deal.
Someone suggested I ask the store owner if I could fold the stroller up and leave it just inside the store somewhere. And I could try that. I’m not sure they’d agree but I could try.
A few people suggested I leave the stroller outside and use a bike lock. Which, yes, is a great idea, but that adds one more relatively heavy item that I must carry around with me. Navigating the subway with a stroller and a toddler is hard enough, adding a paperclip into the mix can sometimes tip the scales.
See, that’s the thing: it’s when you start to add it all up—all the hoops you have to jump through when you have kids, that seemingly irrelevant situations like this one turn into the straw that breaks the sherpa’s back.
I understand why bars want to ban strollers. I’ve written about this before. There was a bar here in Brooklyn that put up a sign and were met with quite a backlash from those in the community with children. Granted, on the flip side of that fight (and boy was it heated for a while), there were a great number of people singing the bar’s praises because a lot of people believe that babies or toddlers should not be in bars. And I get that. I may not agree all the time, but I get it. But baking supply stores? There really aren’t many of them.
Here’s the bigger deal, however. I don’t believe this is about strollers. I believe this is about children. And if my cynical assumption is true, that’s discrimination discriminatory in nature.
I know myself. I won’t say a word to this establishment and hopefully once I figure out what I need every month, I’ll start ordering everything online. But I’m still annoyed. I’m annoyed that additional and unnecessary hurdles like this one are out there waiting us when I think we have enough to deal with.
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April 9th, 2010
I don’t write much about Emory for probably pretty obvious reasons. He’s no longer a baby—he’s not even a toddler anymore—he’s a little boy. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to write about him. There are so many stories I want to share daily; stories I have actually written but never push live. I just can’t bring myself to do it for some reason. I picture him reading it one day and asking, “Mom, why did you write that on the Internet?” And then my heart breaks in this imaginary scenario and so I just save it and close the window.
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March 3rd, 2010
On Sunday Emory and I packed up the car and set sail for South Jersey to stay with grandma and grandpa for a few days. The snowstorm that hit us last week was lovely, but it kind of kicked my ass where cabin fever is concerned. We were just stuck indoors too much and I think something in my brain snapped; we had to get out. Plus, Emory came down with a 24-hour bug (although at the time we didn’t know it was only going to last 24-hours) so it just seemed like the right thing to do was hit the suburbs. We were only supposed to be here for a couple of days. It’s now Wednesday and I’m thinking about extending it to Thursday due to the fact that it’s snowing again and I’m not sure about the driving conditions.
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February 26th, 2010
We have been using a nanny for a little over a month. She came highly recommended by the owner of our building who has employed her for two years and continues to every day after her kids are out of school. (I have her in the mornings, three days a week.) She’s been perfectly fine. She takes him to the playground. She plays with him. He seemed to really, really like her, which is why I overlooked the problems I was having with her. (Yes, there have been some problems.)
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February 3rd, 2010
On Monday I took a bus from 14th Street all the way to the Upper East side. I enjoy riding the bus. Many people find that crazy, but I do. I love getting lost in thought while moving through the streets of Manhattan. There’s just so much to look at, so many things that don’t go together, yet somehow it works. It’s like I’m entering a diorama of my very own head—thoughts are free to come and go as quickly as office buildings, delis, taxis, and tenements. For an obsessive person, this feels quite good.
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January 29th, 2010
At 11:36 AM, I turn 36 years old. I’m looking forward to 36—there’s no way it can be as craptastic as 35. I used to have a thing for odd numbers, well, 35 has cured me of that bias. Bring on the good stuff, even-numbered age.
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January 27th, 2010
As I was sitting around last night craving comfort food and feeling a little sorry for myself, two words suddenly came to mind: I’m lonely. And then saying them out loud later to my husband gave me a bit of relief.
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January 21st, 2010
Back in July of 2009 I wrote a post about my shins and the itchy bumps. I wrote about how I’ve spoken with many doctors over the years. I’ve asked them what it might be and no one has been able to help me. Two of them were even dermatologists. Yeah. It sucks. And to be completely honest, I have lived this way (which is to say miserably) for far too long. Anyway, yesterday I finally met with another dermatologist because the rash and itch was spreading to my thighs and upper arms. I’m a hot mess—a modern leper. Sexy.
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January 18th, 2010
You’ll have to forgive me for not having much to say right now. It’s been a rough week. And other than baking some more chocolate chip cookies for a friend, I haven’t baked anything new this week.
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January 5th, 2010
Toby and I are less than one month away from a would-be due date. This date has sat tucked away, safely in the basement of my mind for a while now. But it occurred to me yesterday, as one of my closest friends gets ready to welcome her new baby into the world, that my due date is upon us and that I have no idea what that day will entail.
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