As children, our parents probably all left us in the car at some point. Or perhaps you were kicking the back of your father's seat and kicked out of the car at the tender age of five to make your way home? For the record, I walked to my Aunt's house and made up a fabulous story about my parents forgetting me at the park - they do have five kids to corral - only to have my story invalidated by my parents arrival too. They'd been watching from a few car lengths behind as I walked.
Today, I was chastised for leaving Mikaela in the car while I ran an errand. We were parked in the closest parking space to the library steps, literally right next to them. She was engrossed with eating her pink frosted cupcake and had expressed no interest in joining me to drop off our library books. As it was four steps and another eight footsteps to reach the return box just inside the door, I was willing to lock her in the car and make the thirty second trip solo. It was broad daylight with the usual comings and goings of any library, all in all, I felt this was as safe an environment as when I dash in to pay for my gasoline purchases.
As I reached the top of the steps, an older lady stopped me...
Old Lady: I don't mean to be rude, but why are you leaving your child unattended in the car?
Me, offended at being thought an inadequate mother: I'm just popping inside the door to drop off my books.
Old Lady: Then I'll do it for you.
Me, annoyed at how this conversation has taken longer than dropping off the books would have: I'll drop them off at the outside return box if it'll make you feel better.
Old Lady: Yes, it would.
As luck would have it, the outside return box was locked. The old lady stared at me as I crossed back to the car, unlocked it, and collected Mikaela. Although I can appreciate that she was concerned for my child's safety, am I so wrong in believing a child can be left alone in a locked car for thirty seconds? Logically, many of us know that there are very few cases of children being abducted by strangers yet we are often paralyzed by the possibility. I'm not trying to be flippant, and I'm sure I will ruffle a few feathers, but did she really think someone was going to smash my car window, reach in and unlock the door, extract Mikaela, and make off with her in broad daylight in an area frequented by Moms & Tots, and the Elderly? I think not.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Go Breakers Go
When one thinks of New Zealand sports, it most generally is rugby, perhaps cricket or even the odd sailing regatta...but do they ever think of basketball? There's a reason for this. There is exactly one professional basketball team in New Zealand, the NZ Breakers, and they are no Toronto Raptors.
It is thus, a surprise, when I find myself sitting in equivalent of a community centre gymnasium, watching the NZ Breakers take on the Cairns Taipans two days before Valentine's. It is the last day of a week long heat wave, and my pregnancy-enhanced olfactory senses are overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, grease, and nasty sausage rolls. Once my stomach contents have been emptied, I return to my seats to take in the full glory of this event.
Upon entering the event, we were handed noise makers and instructions on when and how to participate in the various chants and cheers of the evening. Thus begins two hours of the noisiest sports event of my life, I mean it. There was a six person percussion section to lead us in the always catchy Defense or Go, Breakers, Go. Like a train wreck, my attention is next drawn to the Breaker Girls; I believe they are supposed to be cheerleaders but mostly they gyrate and grind to music in the court corners during every pause in play. Initially, I thought they were wearing hooker boots as part of their ensemble, but I'm happy to report they were merely black Mary Jane's with black socks pulled up to their knees. There are other girls, we'll call them the Sponsorship Girls dressed in low cut lulu-esque pants with teeny, tiny tops that occasionally paraded around the stands tossing out beach balls or chocolate bars. As a side note, never sit in the front row, you will not get any of said Freebies and it will make your husband's staring too obvious. It is loud, brash, and a blow-out.
Mental note: Never let Dave arrange another double date :-)
It is thus, a surprise, when I find myself sitting in equivalent of a community centre gymnasium, watching the NZ Breakers take on the Cairns Taipans two days before Valentine's. It is the last day of a week long heat wave, and my pregnancy-enhanced olfactory senses are overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, grease, and nasty sausage rolls. Once my stomach contents have been emptied, I return to my seats to take in the full glory of this event.
Upon entering the event, we were handed noise makers and instructions on when and how to participate in the various chants and cheers of the evening. Thus begins two hours of the noisiest sports event of my life, I mean it. There was a six person percussion section to lead us in the always catchy Defense or Go, Breakers, Go. Like a train wreck, my attention is next drawn to the Breaker Girls; I believe they are supposed to be cheerleaders but mostly they gyrate and grind to music in the court corners during every pause in play. Initially, I thought they were wearing hooker boots as part of their ensemble, but I'm happy to report they were merely black Mary Jane's with black socks pulled up to their knees. There are other girls, we'll call them the Sponsorship Girls dressed in low cut lulu-esque pants with teeny, tiny tops that occasionally paraded around the stands tossing out beach balls or chocolate bars. As a side note, never sit in the front row, you will not get any of said Freebies and it will make your husband's staring too obvious. It is loud, brash, and a blow-out.
Mental note: Never let Dave arrange another double date :-)
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