Priorities

Saturdays can be a little crazy in our house, even with only one Kid. I often wonder "How exactly do parents manage Saturday schedules when they have two, three or four children?" I assume, to get their young ones where they need to on time and also accomplish the plethora of Saturday errands, they rely on neighbors, older children and just simple juggling. This particular Saturday was no exception. Our Kid needed to go to a Spring Soccer game at 9:30AM, clean up, have lunch and then attend a noon birthday party (parent accompanied) at Build-A-Bear in Fashion Island.

In the 45 minutes between both activities, I decided to squeeze in a visit to the dry cleaner which is conveniently located next to one of the MANY Vietnamese owned nail shops in Newport Beach. I was (in my opinion) long overdue for an acrylic nail fill and pedicure and wanted to fit in this urgent personal errand before being subjected to the scrutiny of 10 Newport Beach women at the birthday party. I had the Kid with me which is not the norm for beauty treatment errands but as I said, we were multi-tasking. I sat him down in the waiting area with a book about Pirates (favorite topic this month), some apple juice and a carton of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish and I asked for a chair near the front. I was seated and had two very efficient Vietnamese women working on my hands and feet within about 3 minutes. You have to love good old fashioned American entrepreneurship and ingenuity. Why the Vietnamese chose to corner the acrylic nail and pedicure market is anyone's guess but their entry into this once high end beauty shop treatment in the 1990's changed the whole industry. They immediately cut prices in HALF on this indulgence once reserved for the very rich making well groomed hands and feet a requirement for all women in Newport Beach.

Near the end of my treatment, a thirty-something woman, smartly turned out in a sequins tank top, rhinestone sandals, $175 jeans and a 2 caret diamond ring approached the reception desk and requested a nail fill and a pedicure as well. Before she was seated she went outside to the strip mall parking lot sidewalk and said a couple of words to an 8-year-old boy dressed in soccer clothes (presumably her son) who had the handle of a baby stroller. Ah, I thought, one of my own, another multi-tasking mother. She came inside and was seated quickly, deep in the heart of the salon, about 10 chairs down from me. As I sat there, the boy pushed the baby (who I could now see was an infant) back and forth in front of the window, sometimes disappearing from view momentarily. I glanced over at the mother who was deep in conversation with her Vietnamese salon professionals.

Within five minutes, the little boy parked the baby outside on the sidewalk, in the window of the salon, and came in and sat down in one of the chairs. I assumed he was chilly as a strong breeze comes into this nail shop from the Back Bay, and the outside air temperature couldn't have been more than 65 degrees. My Kid glanced up from his book, noticing one of his own sitting there in the soccer attire. The mother never looked up to see her son facing the interior of the salon, and the baby sitting out on the sidewalk, squirming and fussing in the carrier totally unattended. I could see clearly now that the baby was tiny, less than 15 pounds. In my head, I was screaming "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!" The thought of a baby sitting alone on a sidewalk was just too much for a mother to bear. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the stupidity of entrusting a baby to an 8-year-old boy. My 7-year-old son, I am sorry to say, has trouble executing three instructions in a row due to his easily distractable nature. For example: "Put on your shoes, put your homework in your backpack and get your jacket" rarely gets accomplished without one of the instructions being repeated. We are working on it.

The din in the shop went up a notch as the Vietnamese women loudly began discussing the situation. I assumed that was what they were gossiping about because they would steal glances outside the window at the stroller. I was starting to go crazy. Should I phone child services? The boy continued to sit and stare at his mother while she continued to chat with the nail ladies.

My pedicure and manicure were completed and I walked to the back of the shop to finish up at the drying station. On my way, I stopped by the woman's chair and said "Shall I ask your son to bring the baby inside?" She glanced up at her son. "No," she said. "The smell." She wrinkled her pretty little powdered nose. She was referring to the chemical smell of acrylic that permeates any nail salon. "And my son is watching him." "Yes," I icily replied. "And he is doing a very good job." I sharply turned on my heal, found a seat at a fan and sat down to glare at the mother.

She had turned her head to the woman directly to the right of her, who, I imagined, couldn't have helped but overhear my strong, precisely worded sentence. I only could make out "... the smell" which indicated to me she was defending against my comments (and perhaps discussing the fine points of not minding one's own business). I glanced over at the patron immediately to the left of this mother. Validating my opinion, this woman looked meaningful at me and then shuddered and rolled her eyes while mouthing "ohmygawd." I nodded agreement. Nails only half dry, I couldn't take much more of this.

I got up, deliberately passing quite near the woman as I went to gather up my Kid at the front of the shop who was still sitting next to the soccer playing, non-babysitting son of the Newport Beach multi-tasking mother. Outside the salon, I leaned over the baby and cooed while holding the handle of the stroller and gently moving it back and forth. The baby was still squirming and whimpering. It was too cold outside for a baby to be all alone. This little baby had better get used to it.