I am totally shocked at the audacity of total strangers. 

Let me explain:

I have been at an educational seminar for the last three days.  My children have been enrolled in a day camp.  Will has been in a geography camp and the little brothers (Jack and George) have been in a day camp with a focus on the fine arts.  Our days have begun at roughly 6:30 a.m. and have ended somewhere around 4:00 p.m.  By lunch time, the boys and I are tired, hungry and simply spent.  We’ve had a somewhat relaxing summer and the little brothers are accustomed to taking a nap after lunch around 1:00 p.m.  So, after we get back from some place to eat lunch, my youngest two are ready to crash. 

I say all of this so you will know the level of exhaustion and frustration that I was experiencing as I returned from lunch yesterday. 

We had just returned from lunch at Chick-fil-A, where my boys scarfed down a Kid’s Meal before taking off their shoes to climb into the indoor jungle gym.  Jack came down within five minutes of crawling to the top to tell me that George’s “bahonkus” (bottom) smelled like poop.  I had to practically scream like a banshee to get all three boys out of the play area and into our van parked outside.  It is like herding cats.  I’m not joking. 

Yes, George had pooped.  No, I did not have a diaper….or wipes.  Yes, I left the diaper bag at the day camp. 

George was crying and screaming that he had “a bad pooper!” to anyone that would listen.  Jack was laughing wildly that George’s “bahonkus” stank.  Will acted mortified that he was related to any of us. 

After lunch, I managed to find a parking space in the back lot of the church where the seminar and day camp was taking place.  I had to give Will his bookbag to carry.  Jack put his backpack on his back.  I carried George’s snack bag, my purse and a bookbag with thirty pounds of books on my shoulder.  George was falling asleep and begged me to carry him.  So, I had to lift George….with his stinky diaper….and place him on my hip….with all fifty pounds of bags/books dangling from my shoulders.  I was a human pack mule.   Jack would not hold hands with Will as we crossed the parking lot.  Jack and Will were relentless in their bickering, no doubt caused from their own exhaustion.   I witnessed other parents as tired as I was….”herding their cats children”….across the parking lot.  There is truly a thing as finding comfort in the shared misery of others. 

All of a sudden, I heard:  “Hey!  You!!!!  Is this your child?!” 

I looked up and saw a woman glare at me from more than fifty yards away. 

Her:  “Yeah.  You!”

Me:  “Yes?”

Her:  “Aren’t you watching your children?”

Me:  “Of course”

Her:  “Well, there are cars everywhere.  Your son almost got run over by that van over there.” 

Me:  “He’s following behind me, albeit not right next to me….but he IS following closely.  (sort of)  Obviously, (motioning at child on hip and a gazillion bags on shoulder) I have my hands full.”

Her:  Well, all of you people (obviously talking about homeschoolers…like all of us have collectively decided to let our kids run wild) at this conference are just letting your kids run amuck.  They just traipse across this parking lot with no parental supervision.  Someone is going to get hurt.  Just like that little boy there (pointing to Jack who is now making faces at her).

 (At this point, I’m fuming.  I cannot believe the audacity of this total stranger.  Furthermore, I’m tired.  My son has pooped in his pants…and I’m STILL holding him.  Jack is mildly amused.  Will looks alarmed because he knows his Mama is being scolded.  I’m at a loss for words…but not for long) 

Me:  “Well, lady.  If that little boy (I point to Jack) gets run over…even his little toe hit by that van, it serves him right.  I’ve been telling him to keep up with us, but he won’t listen to me.  I can’t carry him, too.  Ya know?  Whatdaya do?   If you’re having a problem with all of us “loosey goosey” parents, I suggest you talk to the director of this shindig.  Cause I can’t help ya.  I’m too busy letting my kids play in the traffic.” 

The woman said nothing.  She probably left the parking lot and called the Department of Children and Family Services to report me as a neglectful mother. 

I didn’t care. 

Who was she?  Why was she so righteous?  Was she correct?  Was I letting my boys just walk across and not tend to them?  I don’t think so.  When you’ve got more than one child, you can’t watch everyone 100% of the time.  I did my best to keep them safe.  I certainly was not allowing Jack to cross by himself.  What was it about me that she felt that she could single me out?  Frankly, I suspect it was because we were the last to cross the parking lot…..probably because I was scolding my son for not holding his brother’s hand…and I had my hands full of “poopy toddler” and umpteen bags filled with books.  Maybe she didn’t like us, “homeschoolers.”  I don’t know. 

I am constantly perplexed at the audacity of strangers. 

Something similar happened years ago when I was a college student.  I was grocery shopping after a night class that ended very late.  The grocery store was in an “iffy” part of town and I needed a few things.  After shopping, I tried to hurry through the dark parking lot to my car to load the trunk.  I didn’t feel safe and I wanted to get in my car to lock the doors ASAP.  I had just loaded my trunk when I noticed that the shopping cart return receptacle was two rows over….in an area where the overhead street light had been blown out (probably by vandals).  Usually, I would have returned the shopping cart, but there was no way that I would chance taking the cart back on this night.  My adrenaline was already pumping when I got behind the driver’s seat and closed my door.  Suddenly, an older lady pulled up beside me and motioned for me to roll down my window. 

I did and this is what she said:  “You’ve got some nerve not returning that buggy into the cart return or at least taking it back inside.” 

What?!  I was shocked.  She berated me for what seemed like a good ten minutes before I realized that she didn’t care that I was scared to return the buggy in the dark of night.  I am ashamed to say that I rolled up my window and probably said something very unladylike before burning rubber out of the parking lot. 

To this day, I wonder who appoints these people the “Keeper of the Grocery Carts” or “Surrogate Nanny of Your Children.”

I think I’m too busy to care what other people are doing.  I just don’t feel entitled to “enlighten” someone.  Are these people really that concerned or is there some kind of personality that leans towards self-righteousness?  I don’t know. 

What I do know? 

Don’t ever fuss at me when I’ve got a “poopy toddler” on my hip.

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