Baby Buggy Bumpers

I would like to write a "Rules of the Road" of sorts for all the oblivious pushers of SUV-sized strollers out there who think that common courtesy ends once parenthood begins. Let me hasten to say that most parents do not need this tutorial, including many of the parents who pilot these monstrosities. This is for those parents out there (and yes, we all know who you are) who use these pimped-out carriages as a status symbol rather than out of necessity.

Some of the issues I would like to address in this common-sense parenting manual include:

• Parents whose strollers take up more than 1/2 of the sidewalk must yield to pedestrians.
  
• Do not take these ridiculous contraptions onto a crowded bus or train, especially during rush hour.
  
• The same applies to busy restaurants, cluttered stores, and packed festivals. They make smaller strollers for a reason!
  
• If it is absolutely necessary to steer one of these stupid things into a small space full of people, fold it up or chain it to a bike rack outside once the children have been removed.
  
• Those three-wheeler buggies were designed for joggers, and are not to be used to wedge one's way into a long line of any sort.
  
• Nor are strollers to be used to "nudge" the person in front of you when the line isn't moving as quickly as you would like.
  
• Use of a "super" stroller for any reason other than the transportation of children is strictly prohibited.
  
• A stroller is not the same thing as a grocery cart (although I have a singular aversion to both!), a laundry hamper, or a carry-all. Please do not treat it as such. (see above)
  
• Monster strollers are not to be used at anything less than full capacity. For example: when running errands with only one child, it is not acceptable to wheel that child around in a carriage for three.
  
• If the child is more than old enough to walk (like most six-year-olds are), they are to walk alongside the parent or the legitimate stroller passenger. They are not to be coddled with a ride in a double-wide.
  

Perhaps the most egregious error of all is to be wheeling one of these strollers down the street while the children are roaming free. The only thing worse than leaping out of the way of an oncoming stroller that is roughly the size of my car is if that stroller is empty and the little ankle biters are running amok.

If (and that's a very big 'if') and when I ever have any children of my own, I will have a modest fold-up umbrella stroller for one-- and only one-- child, because I plan to do what my parents did. They would choose which child they liked the best that day (now that I think of it, it was almost always my little sister), and the favorite child would get a free ride, while the other (usually me) would walk across the city of Chicago, or to the top of the Statue of Liberty, or wherever else my parents told me we had to go. It built character, and today, I'm much better off than I would have been if I had grown up thinking I was entitled to shocks and struts, cushioned seats, and cup holders at age two!

Don't be like the mom on the left .... Be like this one on the right!

French Vanilla... Heart It or Hate It?

What is it about the olfactory preferences of pre-teen to teenage girls that draws them to the fake, too-sweet pungency of French Vanilla? The scent, which I reluctantly admit, was enticing to me too at one time, now just turns my stomach. And it seems to be infused into just about everything. It is the ubiquitous fragrance of the girls' bathrooms at every school where I teach, often masking a less pleasant-- underlying, yet still present-- odor. Female students slather themselves with this stench using either lotions, body sprays, or perfumes, and the smell lingers in the hallways. They even stick pot pourri satchels in their lockers so their books and belongings will smell like a bakery!

Worst of all, the go-to gift among girls of this age seems to be ANYTHING French Vanilla. My students have brought me gifts of lotions, car fresheners, soy candles, and the like; different objects, same smell. While I'm grateful for the gesture, and appreciate the fact that they thought to include me in their holiday gift giving, I have a hard time not retching. I have even tried to use some of the gifts I have been given, but to no avail.

The candles wind up in the next garage sale, and the toiletries are saved for desperate times only. I carry the small bottle of lotion with me to lessons during the winter, and only use it when my dry hands are about to crack. Even if I put it on in a well-ventilated area, the smell seeps into my pores and clings to my skin and overpowers the practice rooms where I teach-- I now know what it must be like to be trapped in a gingerbread house. And as for the shower gel... I was expecting to smell clean, but instead smelled like a cookie-- a hot, runny sugar cookie-- I had to take another shower just to get the stink off!

Clearly, a woman's sense of smell changes as she ages, but I don't know what it is about this particular scent that now repulses me so much. I like the taste (and even the smell) of real vanilla-- whether in pure extract form or from the vanilla bean itself-- but the fake, imitation varieties turn my stomach. The sense of smell can be very powerful, and a certain scent can evoke vivid memories... maybe I have some bad or repressed memory that I associate with that smell? Who knows. But if you're looking to get me something smelly, please know that I'd prefer a light, clean scent-- or better yet, something with no stink at all!

The Cheese Stands Alone...

I've been to two weddings in as many weeks so far this month. Both weddings were for good college friends of mine, and both they and their husbands are professional musicians. Both insisted on small weddings, both had incredible music, and both ceremonies were memorable and beautiful. I went stag to both of these weddings, and had a blast each time.

During the first wedding, however, as I was standing with about thirty other guests in front of a picturesque gazebo that was tucked inside a stunning botanical garden, I had an awful realization. As I looked around at the small crowd congregated there, I did the math and groaned inwardly-- I was the ONLY single female of the bunch. I could just picture myself standing up in front of everyone at the reception, waiting stupidly to catch the bridal bouquet. Alone. Would the bride toss the bouquet over her shoulder and directly at me, or try to make things more interesting by hiking it to me from between her legs? Would she make me scramble for it, or would she take pity on me and just hand it over? Oh, the horror!

I mentioned my dilemma to some married friends who were also in attendance; one offered to go up there with me and fight for the bouquet. In a way, though, I almost think that would be worse-- to be the only single woman at a wedding and lose the bouquet to a married lady! For some reason, though, I couldn't picture the bride subjecting me to anything of the sort. I wasn't able to shake my feeling of dread entirely, but once I got to the reception, I quickly realized there would be nothing cheesy or cliche about it. No dollar dance, no long-winded toasts, no Electric Slide, no garter removal, and no bouquet toss. What a relief!

I confessed my moment of panic to the bride later that evening, and she just laughed; the bouquet was too pretty to toss, she said (she's right-- it was), and as for wedding traditions, she wanted nothing to do with any of it. Both friends adopted this philosophy, and I think their nuptials were even more special because of it; they did what worked for them and ditched the rest. I couldn't agree more with their thinking-- if and when I ever get married, there will be nothing traditional about it. But until I find my guy, I'll raise my glass and make a toast-- to good friends and individuality!