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Conversations with Benjamin

mssinglemama — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 02:09:30 +0000

“Mommy.”

“Yeah, Benjamin.”

“You have a tattoo on your butt. That’s funny. Ha. Ha. So funny.”

“Well, it’s not really on my butt.”

“Yes, yes it is Mommy! Look!”

“Okay, that’s enough, keep your hands off of me.”

——–

“Mommy.”

“Yeah, what’s up Benjamin?”

“I want to lift your car off the ground tomorrow morning. Before I go to school.”

“Okay, you can try.”

“No, I’m not going to try – I am going to lift your car.”

“Okay, Sweetie. But first go to sleep. In the morning you can try.”

“Not try Mommy!”

“Alright, alright – you will lift my car tomorrow morning. Now GO TO BED.”

——-

“Mama?”

“Yeah.”

“Is John Bear coming over later.”

“Yeah, he is. Probably in about 30 minutes.”

“Is he coming over forever, Mommy? Like, forever, like he’s never going to leave?”

“I don’t know, Honey. Hey – let’s go upstairs and play before he gets here?”

“Okay. Sure. Hey, good idea Mommy, that’s a really good idea.”

——-

“Mommy, I hate school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I hate school.”

“Do you know what hate means?”

“No.”

“Do you like school?”

“Yeah, I like school.”

“Cool.”

Little shop of horrors.

mssinglemama — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 15:35:22 +0000

A girl has to get her hair cut.

Especially when she’s leaving on a fun weekend escapade in six days (more on that later).

Unable to find a sitter, I decided earlier this week (thanks to my Twitter peeps) to just take Benjamin to the salon with me. The place, right down the street from our apartment, is an industrial type of salon and also doubles as a barber shop. Not your average frou frou place and being edgy and alternative I figured Benjamin would be welcome there. I’ve also been going there for four years, maybe more.

I even asked when I made my appointment – just to be sure, “Is it okay if I bring my two-year-old with me?”

“Of course!”

I packed up a book, a few toys, a coloring book with crayons and some treats and we headed to the salon. After my shampoo and two minutes into the actual cut (half of my hair was 2.5 inches shorter than the rest) the salon owner came up to me and told me very shortly, “Is there anyway you can do anything about this? We can’t have him running around like this.”

I said, “I can try.”

But I knew it was impossible. Hell, I was just happy Benjamin wasn’t throwing a tantrum or breaking things. From my point of view, his crawling around beneath my legs and gabbing with salon patrons was excellent behavior. Given this, if half my hair weren’t gone I would have walked out that moment.

So the hair cut went on and so did Benjamin – my little rascal.

See him there on the floor… being sweet and having fun.

The entire time I’m now very well aware of the owner’s glare.

From the front of the small shop and even while she sat in the back and ate her lunch, she was scowling and shaking her head. The rest of the staff members, including my stylist, were incredibly cool about it – playing with him, picking up his crayons when he dropped them in the middle of the floor, telling me it was “cool” and “not to worry.”

In the meantime I’m realizing painfully that my son is not ready for a hair salon. I feel bad, actually, and decide that this won’t be happening again– for years. I even consider tipping everyone in the place.

One hour later my hair cut is finished and I jump out of the chair.

“Time to go Benjamin, c’mon baby.”

I’m paying, gathering my stuff – frantically almost. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

When I turn around she is standing within six inches of my face.

The salon owner, who looks like she should be permanently fixed to the back of a Harley with streaky blond hair snapped out of an 80′s time capsule, is out for blood. Then she starts in on me – loud enough – for everyone in the tiny place, staff and patrons alike, to hear perfectly.

“Out of respect for me and everyone in the salon I just want to say that – this,” she points at Benjamin who is now running around between our legs, “was completely disrespectful to everyone. My staff had to pick up after him and none of us could work.”

“I understand and we definitely won’t be coming back again,” I say this expecting her to then leave me alone. But, no, she continues.

I can’t remember exactly what she said because at this point my brain is pumping with adrenaline and the butterflies are crawling through my stomach, the sobs are welling up in my throat and I’m also on the verge of punching her in the face.

She went on berating me and then paused because Benjamin had just slapped her calf with his Bob the Builder toy. He does this when he’s running between people’s legs. Toddler tag or something.

“If he hits me one more time,” she growls.

“He’s two years old,” I growl back, “and I called and asked if he could come beforehand.”

“We have two-year-olds in here all of the time and they are perfectly behaved.”

Then Benjamin hits her again. And she says it again, “If he hits me one more time.”

Instead I say, ”I would like to leave so he won’t be able to hit you. But you’re not letting me leave.”

And then he hits her again.

At this point it’s all a blur. I grabbed my little man, scooped up all of our stuff and pulled him outside with no coat on.

— UPDATE —

I wanted to add that as soon as we got home Benjamin and I were both sobbing, crying messes on our couch. He was sad because I don’t think he’s ever, ever seen me cry that hard. I rarely cry. I didn’t want her to get the best of me… but this was just too much.

Just didn’t want you all to think I’m some kind of bionic woman. I’m not… at all.

——

I’m still trying to sort it all out in my head.

Again, my mistake for bringing him there and the salon owner had every right to tell me not to bring him again — but she had no right to treat us like that, no right at all.

Have you had any experiences like this? How did you react?

I’m already brainstorming ideas for a mom review website or some kind of organization that gives mom-friendly businesses a seal of approval. Businesses should be held accountable for how they treat mothers… we are, after all, raising the next generation. Motherhood is not an easy job. Far harder than running a hair salon.

If people were held accountable for treating parents this way, then perhaps, they would go out of their way to make our lives easier – not more difficult – in this way we could focus on what’s really important, our children.

Airports have family lines now. Why don’t grocery stores have family aisles? Why aren’t staff members rewarded for helping a mother with her shopping?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood in line at a store with Benjamin on the brink of throwing a tantrum only to have the childless people in front of me firmly hold on to their place and also turn their backs.

There have been exceptions… nice people who are friendly and improve my experience. From now on I’m going to give them the most enthusiastic thank you I can muster.

No related posts.

A new smile.

mssinglemama — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 03:33:10 +0000

Funny how little I care after seeing him in that much pain. Glad it’s gone. Sayonara dead tooth. Too bad though. Especially after all of the hard work Benjamin put into getting them in the first place… here is teething at 5-months…

And still… gnawing at 8 months.

Not sure when they finally came in. I didn’t have this blog, no journal – everything was moving so quickly. Sucks. But I took a lot of pictures.

These two are from the first year at mom’s. Can’t remember the details of the days as much as I can the feelings that surrounded them. Work. More work. Love. Laughter. Heartache. Work again. Frustration. Anger. Rinse and repeat. And then a release… I adapted.

At least, I like to think that I have. We shall see… have you adapted to single motherhood yet?

The Great Dane

Kathie Lee (a.k.a The Idiot) meets Dooce.

mssinglemama — Thu, 08 May 2008 16:17:10 +0000

If you didn’t see Dooce’s interview on the Today Show, watch it here.

You’ll hear Kathie Lee Gifford admit she doesn’t even use computers and then proceed to tell Heather B. Armstrong, “I have mixed emotions about it (her blog), I have to be honest with you – you seem like a lovely lady – but there’s something that worries me about it…the safety issue of putting your kids online.”

Heather (who looked hot!) then tries to throw it back on her…”well, you live in New York City and you walk down the street…”

Then they cut Dooce off and ended the story. So far no post from Dooce but she did say this on Twitter right after the interview:

“I am not going to twitter what I’m thinking right now. I AM SHOWING RESTRAINT, INTERNET”

Can’t wait to read her slam.

And by the way, here’s Kathie Lee Gifford’s “blog” – which we can now safely assume is a total fake. Too bad the producers didn’t prep her before the show – “Kathie Lee, don’t forget – you have your own blog.” Oops.

Long live mommy blogs and Dooce.

UPDATE – Check out Dooce’s interview on Nightline. Much, much better.

[Photo Credit and Caption: Kathie Lee Gifford and Hode Kotb]

Mission Not Accomplished: the Thomas Lo Rider

mssinglemama — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 03:02:16 +0000

This weekend Benjamin discovered that if he took his tricycle to the top of our front yard he could zoom all the way down the little hill, down the driveway and then take a hard right turn onto the sidewalk. He nearly flipped twice. So after his nap on Saturday it was off to Target - to find a safe replacement – one with rubber wheels and more weight.

Our pick: the Huffy Thomas Lo Rider Bicycle.

When Benjamin saw the box he started jumping up and down, “Train! Thomas! Traaaiinnn…chooooo…biiiikkkkkeee! More? More? More?”

“Okay, baby.” I know, I know – I’m a sucker.

But it’s only the Thomas obsession. Gets me every time. And the box said it had rubber coated wheels. It’ll do, and if not, I’ll just sell it on Craigslist and find a different one.

So we buy it. We come home, jump out of the car and open the box. His two-year-old ameba brain is, of course, expecting a bike to pop out. Mine is more prepared. I have my little screw driver, my hammer (don’t know why I grabbed a hammer) and some scissors.

And then, there it is. A pile of pieces. This is easy? I tried to breath, it had been a long day…a very long day. And for a split moment I actually wished I had a husband to help. But I sucked it up and dove in.

The two page instruction manual was useless. There weren’t even clear labels or illustrations of each part. Yes, guys, I need them to tell me what each little screw, nut and bolt is. Then Benjamin took off with the bicycle seat and two tires. He stopped at the front porch where he knelt down and started hammering the tires ferociously into the pavement. BANG. BANG. BANG. I think he was trying to help.

But not even Benjamin could save me from the Thomas Lo Rider. I had to give up. He didn’t even mind. He knew it was a piece of junk anyway. So we piled all of the pieces back into the box and now they’re in the trunk of my car. I’m trying to simmer down a bit before I bring it or should I say them back to Target.

Do the people who make these products actually open them up and try to set them up themselves? Who wrote those instruction manuals? WHY???? WHY HUFFY??? Big jerks.

Or…am I a total idiot because I couldn’t put this thing together?

A profound thought and a new project.

mssinglemama — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 02:50:04 +0000

Two-year-olds can learn how to clean up after themselves.

Don’t ask me why this hadn’t occured to me until just now. It’s the daily grind and not enough time to read parenting books. And then there’s the lightening speed at which kids grow. Every day it seems like he’s doing something new, saying something new or showing me a new side to his personality.

It’s hard to keep up.

And today, as I was picking up toy after toy…it dawned on me. Hey, maybe he can start doing this himself. It’s my new project. Finished up don’t run in the damn road last week.

Okay, so how do I do it? How do I teach a future man how to clean? And guys who do clean, how did you learn?