(More than) Fourinarow.net

A friend of mine recently blogged (or dittoed a blog) about getting the, “My, you have your hands full!” comment when she’s out with her young children.   I was somewhat stunned to learn that she is the target of such comments, as she only has THREE small children.  (I mean, I know only two are tolerated by society these days, but I thought there was an exception when the first two are of the same sex.  Aren’t you then allowed to have a third, in hopes of having the other sex?)

It’s sad, really, that she finds herself a target.  I get comments like that often, but then I’m an anomaly, right?  With FOUR kids and another on the way?

The truth is, whether you have one or six or 10, you still have your hands full.  (Unless maybe you’re doping up your kids.)  For the most part, having kids is crazy and wonderful, all mixed together.  At other times… well… you know.  It is NEVER easy.  It is RARELY calm or quiet.  But for those who believe that one or two is acceptable, and more than that demands a comment, I say poppycock.

I’ve seen plenty of people at the store struggling with just one child. Or two.  The number of children doesn’t really change the situation.

As a matter of fact, I had the allowable number of TWO children with me yesterday at Target.  You’d think it’d be a breeze.  I mean, I was down to half my normal crew and only needed to pick up a few things.  Piece of cake, right?  Riiiiiiight.  After the moaning and groaning required while browsing for a dress (ewwwwwww) for their sister, we grabbed a couple of other things and then headed to the checkout lane.  There was no waiting, but still, my boys couldn’t wait to be free.  Luke, old enough to climb out on his own, did so and then stayed perched on the outside of the cart while the checker did her thing.  Sam, having seen his brother break free, also wanted out.  He was in the front of the cart and when he started to extract himself, I grabbed him and told him “NO.”  He was in the squatting position by then and asked if he could at least stay that way.  “NO,” I told him.  “You need to SIT ALL THE WAY DOWN.”  And, just as he was asking, “But why???”

C R A S H !

Thanks to Luke’s weight on the side and Sam not sitting properly, over the cart went.  Sam, having smacked his head, was screaming.  Luke was looking scared.  I was trying to console Sam and pick up the cart, frustrated and embarrassed as could be.  I had almost made it out of the store disaster-free.

Somehow I managed to get the cart up-righted and pay the cashier.  As I was grabbing my two measly bags and explaining to Sam that THAT is why he needs to sit properly, my neighbor materialized before me.  Shit.  Thankfully, though, it was the neighbor with two small energetic children of her own.

She gave me a sympathetic look and told me that she was at the snack counter getting a green crazy straw since the cashier had dared give her son THE WRONG COLOR.  Her two children were at a snack table fighting over the one acceptable straw.  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear them screaming about it,” she told me.

Yeah, well, I might have if I hadn’t be in the throes of my own disaster.

Anyhow, us moms of young ones don’t need comments from strangers about the number of children we have, or about how brave/crazy/stupid, etc. we must be.  Instead, we’d simply prefer those strangers to a) completely ignore us and go on about their business; or b) smile and offer to hold the door.  (Or pick up the cart.)