Those Three Little Words

"Oh,  man, did I get the looks from the ladies."




Michael had a silly little grin on his tan face, giving me the play-by-play of his successful venture to the zoo with the 3 boys- our two, plus their 2-year-old cousin, who is newly a big-brother and therefore was staying with us for the week.




"All the women were giving me looks like...." Michael sports a flirty glance over his shoulder, winks, then adds, "Well, they didn't actually wink, but..."




This drive me nuts.  When Michael takes the boys anywhere on his own, he gets the most adoring looks from women.  When I take the kids anywhere on my own?  Like I do every day?  Nothing.


Well, that's not technically true.  I do get looks.  But they're never flirtatious, never adoring, never might-as-well-be-winking. 


Sometimes I get sympathetic glances from other exhausted women corralling their children.  At times a comment from the elderly about how I have "such good helpers" with me.  But then there are the other looks.  These other looks are reserved in particular for when I am running errands with our 31/2 year old, 6 year old, and our daycare kiddos, siblings who are 4 and 6.  All blondies, all close in age, it appears as if I have two sets of twins.  I get a lot of "you've got your hands full," and "are they all yours?!"  And then we have the irritated members of our community.  The farmer's market lady selling honey who is serving several people before me, with a look of wary annoyance directed at the kids who are clamoring over the honey sticks. The looks of judgement from other shoppers thinking their thoughts about me having so many so close in age.  One day, I was trying to contain 3 boys in Target while managing their Icees, Charlie running around grabbing chips from the counter, Oliver removing a sale sign, and another spilling his Icee on the floor.  One of the three older women who were staring at me for several minutes called out, "I think you need to have another boy!"


Today, I was grocery shopping with all 4 kiddos, and almost made if out alive when Charlie was headed for a screaming meltdown, insisting that he should be pushing the overflowing cart to the parking lot by himself.  I knelt down and actually reasoned with him, and talked him into helping me push instead.  This never works, but today, it miraculously did, and the air raid sirens were called off.  Another woman was heading into the store, watching me as she grabbed a cart nearby.  As we passed her, she looked me in the eye, and said in a very serious tone, "Good job, Mom."


I almost cried.  Those three little words of affirmation, among a crowd of judgemental stares, comments, and annoyed glances, will give me the confidence to rise above all of that for months to come.  So thank you, Target shopper, for knowing exactly what to say to a woman.


Our daycare kiddos spent the night this evening in a much anticipated slumber party.  I, however, fled the scene to a friend's wedding shower.  I gave Michael a list of things I thought would be fun to do, then suggested a sleeping arrangement spanning several rooms.


"Um, I thought we would just all sleep on the floor in the basement in sleeping bags," Michael said.


Isn't that adorably naiive?  I mean, we're talking about kids who can start a world war over which color straws they have.  And Charlie! Charlie who still has a lock on the inside of his bedroom door and, for his own safety, only has soft objects in his room.  There's no chance they'd all be in the same room, much less sleep that way.


But when I crept downstairs after returning home, I held the light from my phone to the floor of the basement, where I found four little pajama-clad children, sleeping next to each other like  fleecey sardines.


Good job, Daddy.