Purge (the good kind)

A week off...a glorious collection of days when I do not have to sojourn down state to my job, one that I am still not sure if I like.  Well, I like that I get a week off every now and then, so let's keep it positive today, okay?

Yes, so one week off...what to do?  what to do?  Write my novel?  Finish the 3 articles I started (and by started I mean I've thought about writing them)?  Prepare an outline for my idea for a play - the opening scene I keep seeing over and over again in my head?  These are all things I keep saying I will get to - when I have time.  And yet here I am day four into actually having the time, and nada...  Oh procrastination, you cruel, cruel seductress.

BUT I did not loaf around on the couch all week, surfing tv channels and web sites (well, a bit, but I am on vacation).  No, I decided to purge...my clutter.  The junk around my house that just makes me nuts and blocks my ability to feel peaceful in my own home had to go.  So I tackled the dreaded "crap room."  You know, the room in the house where everything you don't know what to do with gets dumped.  Yep, I tore that baby up and threw out 4 huge bags of paper, knick knacks, unused photo albums, questionable gifts (does my mother-in-law even like me?) and pretty much anything else with a 1/4" of dust on it.  

And damn - it felt good.  

I now have a guest room where guests can actually put things in the closet.  I moved a small, formerly clutter-filled book shelf into our bedroom, where it magically transformed a lonely corner into a beloved book nook (complete with reading chair and lamp).   All that on day 1.  

Days 2 & 3 lead me to other rooms of the house.  I disassembled a basement corner where the remains of my product sales business had gathered to commiserate about yet another great idea I did not have the time or energy to keep up.  I cleared out the bottom of my closet, finally discarding all those shoe boxes that I kept because I was going to store my shoes in them (and yet I had 15 empty ones...perplexing, I know). 

And finally, I pillaged the junk-filled secretary desk, the one that when I splurged and ordered it from Pottery Barn I swore I would keep it neat.  Well, it is no longer a $1600 crap cabinet.  It is now a functional workspace - one that beckons me, no pleads with me, to put my shiny black laptop on its clean desk and write that article, book and script.  Yet, here I sit at the dining room table...

I think I'll go catch a movie before I pick up Princess from school.        

For Adults Only

Okay...before you get too excited, it's not a racy post. Instead, I need to vent about where I believe it is appropriate to take kids, especially those 10 and under. As you all know, I am a parent of a 2 year old who is just as sweet as sugar, but there are places I do not take her because it is not fair for other patrons to suffer through a whiny tantrum or a "I'm so sleepy" crying episode. I made her (well there were 2 of us present during her creation), so it is my job to deal with those fun moments. Yet, those people out to enjoy a nice dinner at a good restaurant, or I don't know, let's say women set to enjoy a quiet pedicure on a Sunday morning, should not be subjected to a screaming child. And yet, during my ONE hour of alone time on Sunday, that is exactly what happened.

As many of you already know, my husband works like a maniac, especially during the summer months. From May through September, I am basically on my own. So those few times when I get to go somewhere, anywhere without toting extra diapers, a sippy cup, wipes, Abby Caddabby, matchbox cars and crayons, well those are rare. special moments for me. This Sunday, though, my husband was home for a total of 24 hours, and he said I should go out and treat myself to some alone time. Before he completed the sentence, I sprinted to my car with just my debit card, iPod and book in hand. Off I drove to Jane's Nails, the only local salon open on Sundays.

It all started off very well. I walked in, and they immediately fulfill my "mani-pedi" request. Fantastic. Approximately five minutes into my manicure, a mom walks in with her 5 year old daughter to get a pedicure. At first, this sight does not trouble me at all. I understand a mother's need to get out of the house. I understand her desire to treat herself to a foot soak. I understand her want of red polish on her toes. I've been alone with a toddler for the last 3 days; I get it. But, then she says she wants her daughter to get a pedicure too, and I think "This is going to be trouble."

Now, ladies (no offense to my dear male friends who read this blog as well - please don't feel excluded), you know damn well that occasionally you'll get pinched or the water will be a little too hot or the file will burn just a bit. And you are not a five year old girl with tickly feet who squirms and wiggles because, you know, you're 5! You're a grown up who can sit still for 30 - 45 minutes, longer if someone is rubbing your feet! But a kind (perhaps naive) technician invites this sweet little girl to climb into a massage chair to give her a pedicure.

At first, it's okay. Yes, she's a chatty five year old and I would prefer a little more serenity (as I just left my chatty 2 year old), but it's manageable. The little girl is good for the first 10 - 15 minutes and I think, "I misjudged; shame on me. A preschooler can get a pedicure." However, before the daydreams of kindergarten Princess and I getting pedis begin, a scream catapaults from this girl's mouth out into the salon. This little girl's yelp reverberates off the salon's coral walls, circles each patron's head, and sends familiar maternal quesiness into my belly. Then, the tears pour from this little girl's face and true hysterics set in. Her mother frantically interrogates the girl and the tech, "What happened? What hurts?" But no one speaks, or if they do, I can't hear it over the child's gut-wrenching, "my foot has been cut off" cries.

Just the relaxing Sunday morning I was looking for.

So it turns out, as the tech clipped the little girl's big toe nail, the girl flinched, and the tech caught a tiny piece of skin. Yep, that hurts. I don't blame the child for screaming. She's five... I blame the mom for getting her a pedicure because, you know, she's five...

After several minutes of consoling her, wrapping her toe in mountains of gauze and assuring her it would be fine, the mother finally decides to remove her daughter from the salon. But as she leaves, she doesn't apologize or state (with contrition) "This probably wasn't a good idea." No, instead she makes a ridiculous proclamation: "Don't worry, baby. We will NEVER come back to this TERRIBLE place again! They OBVIOUSLY don't know how to take care of their CUSTOMERS properly."

Lady...she's five, and you got her a pedicure. And your daughter's screaming ruined 20 minutes of my 60 allotted minutes to be without my own screaming child. Let's not pass blame on the salon here.

So, call me crazy, unreasonable or plain mean. But there are some places that really are for adults only. If men can have an entire section of a non-franchised video store (b/c we all know women order their porn online), then I think ladies should be allowed to have nail salons.

There are just some places that should be for Adults Only.