This last weekend I took on the adventure of craft fairing with team double trouble. It wasn’t too bad considering I had each of them restrained tightly in the double jogger, but that didn’t keep hands from straying. As I lingered over doilies and avoided the crazy man who demanded that I let him clean my glasses the kids picked on each other. While Wyatt played on his iPad, little Deuce pulled on him. When Deuce fell asleep, Wyatt bought the hammer of revenge down by giving him a smack. I must say to the unknowing passerby I must have resembled a worn out squawking chicken. Although, several equally worn out moms gave me the look. The one that says “Yup, we feels ya sistah!” So despite the craziness I enjoyed myself, however the day could never be complete without some odd comment made toward Wyatt.
The first scenario was when I parked my tired rear at a table to eat some lunch. I kept the kids in their containment stroller and put snacks on both of their trays. As it was a craft fair there were old ladies with horrid purses and equally bad kitten sweatshirts everywhere. We were surrounded by sweet grannies, totally safe right? As I quickly ate, an older lady at the table began talking to Wyatt who promptly ignored her. His ability to shut her out did not deter her, and she asked him about his ipad and he continued to not respond. Finally, a bit at my wits end I told her he had autism. The shock passed over her face “Well, I would have never known. He doesn’t look like anything is wrong with him!” and I could only blink. Should he be blue? or maybe have a huge A on his forehead? I mean really what does autism look like? I consider us to be an autism family so could you pick us out of the crowd? Knowing she was just a nice old lady uninformed, I mumbled how he was very sweet, loving, and a happy little boy. The next comment floored me, and mama saw red, not just red, but you know sparkling flames of rage red. ”Well isn’t that a shame.” As a mom my baby could be born with green skin, purple hair, and have five legs and the fact would remain that my baby is perfect. I truly believe that God gave me Wyatt, because he is a gift. He doesn’t fit any particular mold, and that is fine by me. In fact he is one of a kind, and I would have it no other way. So I let her know that I was proud of having him for my son, and that without him I would have never known my true strength as a woman, mother, and wife. Shazam!! Back peddling ensued.
The second scenario I didn’t witness, but heard about later. A nearby vendor close to my sister’s craft booth made a comment along the lines of how I had the gaul to allow Wyatt to hit Deuce. Oh yeah lady I am that kind of mother…yup go ahead knock the baby around. Really? Seriously? My kids are clean, they are safely strapped into a stroller with food, beverages, oh and a four hundred dollar iPad…oh and guess what I am right there next to them. I will admit that I fail at being a ninja mom, because those darn kids can sneak in a hit faster than a roach scurrying when the light comes on. Oh and guess what! Neither little ninja knows not to hit, we’re working on it lil miss judgmental lady skulking in the corner.
So come on folks…quit with the comments. A lesson to think before you speak, or you may just get a fired up mom barking back at you.