Village Etiquette

“If one more person tells me how BIG I am, I am going to shoot them.”

My girlfriend Renata, who is usually not a violent person, is due any day with her baby. As with any woman who is about to run the marathon called childbirth, her belly is indeed large but proclamations of “bigness” are hardly necessary. As if perhaps, she hadn’t noticed the reason she can no longer see her toes. Her brother-in-law, a NMOWC (never married or with children), explained that he thought it was the polite thing to do, fawn over a mother’s belly size.

Not. As those of us who have been “big” well know, this is not polite or welcome behavior.

Is there no longer a sense of etiquette or social boundaries? People feel free to comment on other people’s appearances, behavior and my biggest pet peeve, parenting practices, without giving it a second thought.

And for whose benefit?

For example, I had to run a couple of quick errands in the village. My girls were tired, so I pulled out the double stroller and plopped them into it for quick and easy maneuvering. My goal was to get in and out so we could spend our time at Bluebird Park. I rounded the corner from Glennerye onto Forest and passed a man about my age.

“Those kids are too big for a stroller,” he pronounced.

I was stunned and speechless. Obviously three and four year olds don’t need a stroller, because, “Hello, I know they can walk.” I just didn’t want the drama of two tired girls while I faced the downtown post office, an experience that can often send me into my own temper tantrum.

I understand that it takes a village to raise our children. And I fully support that idea, especially when it comes to a village that offers complimentary babysitting. But does that mean the village has the right to comment? And that, I in turn, should listen?

I contacted the Emily Post Institute, one of the foremost authorities on etiquette, for their opinion on the matter. Cindy Post Senning, one of Emily’s great grandchildren, told me that we have two response options.

“Kindly ask the rude person, “Why do you say that?” That person is then forced to consider what he or she said to formulate his or her response, “ she advised me.

That’s a bit boring but I get her intention. I liked option #2 much better. One she labeled the “passive-aggressive” and fairly successful response.

“You can respond with “How kind of you to say so!” or “How wonderful for you!” And then firmly change the subject.” Go Emily Post and descendants! I like your etiquette.

I asked my girlfriend Annie what she thought.

“Loosen up,” she exclaimed.

Well, that was a shocker. I thought she would be all over this one, but instead she was all over me. “Most people mean well. They just lack finesse in their delivery.”

Her theory is that social boundaries only contribute to us feeling more isolated. She’d rather have neighbors dropping by with an unsolicited opinion than remain alone in her house. And I agree. But I get parenting advice daily from my mother, my mother in law, my friends, and, of course, SuperNanny.

My husband shrugs his shoulders. He can hardly understand my outrage. To him, it falls into the category of “opinions are like you know what—and everybody’s got one.” So who cares what some stranger says?

Well obviously I do. The next weekend, my husband and I headed out for a family adventure with some friends on Coronado Island.

“We don’t need the stroller,” I announced. A bold move considering we were going to walk a fair distance. For a moment, I was thrilled. We were stroller-free. Walking. Exercising. Having a wonderful time. Mr. Nosy was right. My kids were too old for a chair on wheels.

That was until my four year old declared blisters on her feet and did the wet noodle act in the middle of the street, insisting on being carried. Which meant then that my three year old needed to follow suit and be carried too. So there I was with a ½ mile to walk and no double stroller in sight.

How wonderful for me!

Going Home

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to live by the beach. Lexington, Kentucky only had one beach—Sin Te’s Wave pool off of New Circle Road—so when it came time to pick a university, beach location was first on my mind. I cracked open the college guide and searched for a pick that would please both my parents and me.

Newcomb College of Tulane University seemed to fit the bill. Strong Liberal Arts College. Good academic reputation. And most importantly--located next to Ponchartrain Beach. Or at least that’s what the guidebook said. Six months later, I arrived at Newcomb College in New Orleans, LA for my first day of school.

“Where’s the beach?” I asked my roommates.

“What beach?” was the frequent response, until a friendly Frat Boy agreed to drive the naïve freshman to Ponchartrain Beach.

I can’t remember Frat Boy’s name, but I do remember arriving at a body of water lapping onto a concrete shore. No beach. This was a lake with levees leading into the city. Disheartened, Frat Boy took me to Audubon Tavern where I drowned my disappointment in an order of cheese fries and a cold glass of underage beer.

And so it goes, I fell in love. With New Orleans. And with a man named Tommy. A New Orleans’s native, he introduced me to the city’s backstreets and best-kept secrets. We rode our bikes to the Lafayette Cemetery, ate shrimp po-boys from Domilise’s, and did the jitterbug at the Maple Leaf Bar.

As graduation approached, so did the end of our time together. While many of my friends were preparing their resumes, I bought a backpack and prepared to travel and live overseas. Tommy wasn’t coming with me--he belonged to New Orleans. One could easily say I left piece of my heart there.

So as the news progressed about Katrina and the flooding of New Orleans, that piece of my heart filled with sadness. Such a complicated and devastating tragedy, I can still barely understand what has taken place.

As a filmmaker, I am attracted and repelled by the media coverage (which is a whole different column on a not so gloomy day). And when I look at it as a mother, I am overwhelmed with the amount of courage and sacrifice I have seen.

Over 121 babies were evacuated to the Women’s Hospital in Baton Rouge, most of them without their mothers. How Lainie Breaux summoned up the strength to leave her four day old son Zachary can only be answered by a mother’s love: She had to leave her son in the hospital where he would get the best care and evacuate her older son Benjamin to higher ground. Lainie and Zachary were eventually reunited, thanks in part to the network of mothers who relayed messages that Zachary was in a hospital in Fort Worth.

It is almost enough to make me want to have another baby. Almost.

While I’m angry about the way New Orleans and its people were treated, my friend Betsy isn’t. She and her family were fortunate enough to evacuate to Baton Rouge where she is sharing her in-laws’ house with eight other people.

“What went wrong?” I asked her.

“I don’t want to waste any energy arguing over who is to blame. I just want the current situation fixed.” Her daughter Eliza was supposed to start pre-school full time last Monday as she headed back to work as a teacher. “I just want to go home.”

Having been displaced for only two days from the landslide, I know the emotion of “going home.” Fortunately though, I had the Laguna Beach community that gave support to my family and me. The sweatshirts from Hobie kept us warm, Annie’s warm beds gave us rest and generous offers from strangers filled our souls with hope.

The victims of Katrina must find their communities in different places.

“We are trying to be their home away from home,” Marilyn Fountain, Director of Community Relations for Star of Hope, told me. “I have seen children traumatized for being homeless. We are trying to provide the comfort that they need-provide them with the basics and the emotional support, too. We need to let them know that they are not alone in their recovery.”

Star of Hope (www.sohmission.org) is one of the few aid organizations that is accepting in-kind donations for Katrina’s victims. Please contact their hotline at tel. (713)226-5499 for up to date information.

Christine can be reached at cfugate2000@yahoo.com.