Perspective

It had been a long day. As if an en masse trip to Costco wasn’t enough to set us off course, we had also managed a doctor’s appointment, Target, and the Osh Kosh outlet. Then there was the epic trip home, which lined up perfectly with rush hour traffic in the most congested corridor in our county.

We were worn out, y’all.

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The clock said 6 p.m., and it felt like 8. Dinner was half an hour late, we were still thirty minutes from home, and things were hanging by a thread. It wasn’t just the littles who were threatening to riot if the Stretch Island fruit leathers didn’t hold out. Momma and Daddy were also wearing thin, and the teenagers were losing their patience.

So we stopped at our favorite local Mexican restaurant to refuel before the final push home. Now, we’ve been frequenting this joint since we were a family of five. Jack learned to say “pico de gallo” in the same high chairs from which Simon now plans his escape. The waiters and waitresses know us. They remember to keep all cheese far away from Phin’s plate. They know to bring three baskets of chips right off the bat. They know that we drink water, and provide our own little paper straws for Birdie.

Our usual upstairs corner table wasn’t available, so we were seated right in the thick of things–two tables slid together amidst the couples enjoying their quiet suppers. There were older couples, some young folks, a table of ladies clearly meeting up after work. Family diners had vacated a good half hour earlier; people with young children duck in, eat by five, and try to be home for baths and teeth brushing  and bedtime. So we were the sole family with kids in tow. And yes, we have more than your average number.

We noticed a few curious glances and raised eyebrows as we settled in, as well as a couple of exasperated faces. And really, who can blame them? A family with 7 kids– four very young ones– just marched into an enclosed area. Things could go very badly, very quickly.

From our perspective, they kind of did. Simon managed, ten minutes in, to poke the end of a straw straight through the side of a styrofoam cup. I found myself laughing, holding my finger over the hole, and waving furiously for a waitress to come to my aid. Birdie decided that this was the perfect stage for her newfound love of Frozen, and used her sweet little voice to ask anyone and everyone if they wanted to build a snowman or ride a bike around the hall. Phineas ended up sticking out his tongue at someone and needed face-time with Momma to correct the behavior. And I’m pretty sure that the older kids’ enthusiasm for whatever they were discussing was not in library voices.

This is why I jokingly tell people who call us a herd that they’ve got it all wrong. We’re clearly rhinos. We are a crash.

By the time the potty trips were made, the toddler was done flicking the cilantro from his beans, the insatiable teen boys had eaten their fill, the chips had been refilled three or four times, the leftovers had been gathered, and the bill had been paid, we were sure we had outworn any welcome we had possibly had among our fellow diners. By our standards, the dinner had been something of a mess, and while no overt disasters had erupted, we’d still fallen far short of our personal commitment to make as small a ripple in the ponds we visit as possible.

We stood to leave. I gathered a cranky, whining toddler smelling of refried beans into my arms. Mathaus grabbed the boxes of leftovers. John Mark raced around the table to follow me out, and Christopher waited for Birdie and Phineas tos cramble down from their chairs. And that’s when it happened. A older gentleman from a nearby table rose and approached my husband with an outstretched hand.

“I just wanted to say you have a surprisingly mild-mannered family there. Good job, and thanks,” he offered, completely unprompted.

We were all stunned.

Mild-mannered? But … didn’t he hear the singing? See the water all over the table? Hear us ask for extra napkins five times?

He did. Or … maybe he didn’t. Who knows? Either way, it was all under his radar. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t a distraction to him.

We had spent the whole meal so wrapped up in our own damage control setting that we were certain that we were under a microscope and failing, horribly. We were sure that we were the loudest table in the joint. We were pretty certain that when we left, people would sigh with relief.

Except, they didn’t. There was no microscope. Or rather–if there was– we passed the test.

So often, as parents, we are more concerned with what others are thinking as we struggle through the moments of public life. Is he touching something he shouldn’t? Are they thinking I’m a terrible mom? Are my kids the most obnoxious little people they’ve ever seen? Are we upsetting everyone around us? Is everyone hearing my six month-old screaming and wondering what I’m doing wrong?

And yet… it’s rarely the case. The general populace has plenty of grace to extend for normal, routine kid behavior. There’s a well of empathy still out there for parents whose kids are just being kids. Yes, there are sour apples out there. There are folks who will go out of their way to let you know how, exactly, you have failed to measure up to the standards that God has personally told them your family should be employing.  But really, that’s their problem. Not yours.

If your kids speak too loudly, remind them to respectfully pipe down for the comfort of others. If they throw something, help them pick it up and tell them how their actions are not acceptable. If they whine, ask them to speak to you in a proper voice. If they have a tantrum in public, remove them. That’s your job, no matter where you are: home, the doctor’s office, the library, church. You are in the business of training uncivilized creatures in the nuances of being responsible members of society. It’s a full-time gig.

They are going to act out. They are going to be rude, and loud, and sometimes, completely uncontrollable. By and large, those moments will find you safely in your own home, where the only one put out by the screeching and red faces will be the people who love the child no matter what. But sometimes, that stuff is going to erupt in the real world. And that’s when we think the game changes.

But it doesn’t.

Kids are kids. They will act like kids. No matter where they are.

It’s really not that big of a deal.

So don’t let it be. Enjoy the moments, even the messy ones. Don’t let the stares and assumptions of others poison the precious seconds that God has given you with your children. Embrace the crazy. And be prepared to be surprised. Sometimes, a little perspective is all it takes to remind us of how blessed we are, messes and all.

I link up posts with these wonderful hosts:

Diamonds in the Rough,

Life in a Breakdown,

Sunday Best Showcase,

Teach Beside Me,

Finishing Strong,

Mama Moment Monday,

The Modest Mom,

Mama Moments Mondays,

Monday’s Musings,

Making Your Home Sing Monday,

Playdates at the Wellspring,

A Pinch of Joy,

Titus 2sday,

Titus 2 Tuesday,

Growing Homemakers,

Babies & Beyond,

Teaching What is Good,

Missional Call,
Essential Things,

Create With Joy,

Hope in Every Season,

For the Kids Fridays, 

Preschool Creations,

Pin Me Party,

Learn & Link,

Frugal Homeschool Friday.

3 thoughts on “Perspective

  1. Heather, This is real life! Loved this quote near the bottom: “Enjoy the moments, even the messy ones. Don’t let the stares and assumptions of others poison the precious seconds that God has given you with your children. Embrace the crazy. And be prepared to be surprised.” May the Lord bless and enrich these wonderful days with grace, mercy, and peace!! Stand firm in the Lord, young Mama :)

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