I had to run errands yesterday. With the kiddos. And Grams.
Buying in bulk just makes sense when you're feeding a family of five.
So we were at BJs. With a cart full of cheese and green beans and the like.
Toby and Grams were in a different lane checking out. While I had Bristel and Trevy perched in the double seated cart. I love the double seated carts! Keeps two of the kiddos contained while still allowing maximum cart fillage. Which means less trips to the store. Have I mentioned that I'm not a big fan of food shopping?
The check out clerk was obviously lonely. And MUCH too talkative. Me? My life is pretty full these days...so making BFFs in the check out lane isn't really on my to-do list. I was totally kicking myself for not opting to use the self check out lane.
Besides. There's the Trevor factor. If our contact remains in the 10 minutes or less visual observation only zone...the less likely questions are asked. Or curious body language read. Real or imagined. Because visually we look perfectly normal. All of us. Now that the curls are camouflaging the scars. The outside ones anyway. It's weird to me that the scar running across his skull was more obvious than the clusters of seizures he used to have while we were in the market. Oh...and when I say questions asked...I really mean questions asked of him. Questions like...
Hi little guy...what's your name?
How old are you?
Move your hand, buddy, don't wanna hurt you.
His hand is probably reaching for something breakable to throw. Because Cause & Effect is all the rage with the (seizure) kids these days.
Questions WAY over his head. Better luck if you'd ask him where his nose is. Chances are he's already picking a winner!
It's not the questions that bug me really. They're innocent enough. It's just that my adorable middle child is perpetually seeking attention. And has therefore been saving up all her blabber for this precise moment of opportunity. Which is why she'll spurt the following like a wound up jack-in-the-box...
He's three but he doesn't talk yet well sometimes he says mama but most of the time we don't understand him because he had seizures and the doctors and to cut out half his brain...
All without taking a breath. Beware if she stops for air. It means she's getting set for her second round of pent-up-middle-child thoughts that she's just dying to share with you!
I was involuntarily cringing when the Check Out (old hag) Gal started with the questions. The dreaded questions. If I'd had more energy I would have shushing Miss. Midster. But I was zonked. I may have managed a grunt (or was it a groan?) and a smile. Bristel's cheeks were puffed and ready for release...
My baby brother's in school with the big kids and he takes a bus a great big yellow bus with the big kids to the school where he goes cause he's three, you know
Check Out Gal smiled and responded...
Oh no, Dear, he's too young for school. He doesn't go to school.
Bristel does not like to be corrected. Especially when she's right.
YES HE DOES! The great big school with the big kids on the big bus!
COG ever so slightly rolled her haggy eyes and proceeded to say something like...
You mean daycare. I'm sure his daycare is nice, honey.
I was standing there by the sheer strength of my will power. Because I'm tired, ya'll. And all I wanted to do was sit! Lay down in the middle of the road like Trevy...and Sophie...and all the other little Trevy-ish kids! Oh...I know I probably could have set that old COG straight. Taken up Bristel's cause. Parted Trevy's curls and shoved her nose in his scar. And felt the satisfaction that came from watching her face blanch as she realized that he was indeed in school. And why.
But I didn't. It wasn't her business. And besides it's kinda a privilege to know. That you're witnessing a living breathing miracle. She didn't deserve to know how special he is. How special all my kids are for that matter. That Bristel loves her baby brother so much that she saves up all her words and uses her moment to speak...about him. Nope. She didn't deserve to know.
So I silently swiped my card and left.
But it was bugging me all night. I'm easy to irk like that. And I've been in a mully mood anyway.
Alas...my life is full. And Benadryl works sleepy wonders quickly. Before I knew it it was morning. Again. And we were rushing around to get Trevy dressed for his day. At school. Not to be confused with daycare.
It's amazing how quickly 3 hours can fly by. Seriously amazing!
It was like one minute I was smoochy whooching him (against his sensory will) goodbye...the next we were piling in the car to pick him up. Where he would get smooched again!
As I was standing in the little glass vestibule waiting for a glimpse of the mini-school kids to come tumbling around the corner...the COG's words swirled through my mind. Uninvited.
I'm sure his daycare is nice...
He's too young for school...
And my heart was sad. In that moment. That my baby can't have a normal childhood of easy peasy play and learning. That his days need to be filled with forced and purposeful teaching. Gobs of repetition. And slow progress. And while I was mulling myself into a melancholy they came into view.
And oh how flippin' cute they are!
That line of three year olds. Backpacks like turtle shells hanging off their backs. Holding Hands. Grinning at each other. Tripping. And stopping. And touching. And pulling. Cute as can be.
And then he noticed...
Me. Waiting on the other side of the glass.
And he came running and pounded on the see-through door. Squishing his face and nose right into it. Beaming from ear to ear. And licking a big circle in the pane.
All the other waiting care givers ooooooh and ahhhhh and chuckled. And my heart got all sappy. My smile just as goofy as his...
When he started saying "mama...mama" and sharing his opinion about our squeezes and smooches being delayed by that silly old glass door! He's not a fan of the waiting.
Miss. CNA opened the glass partition and he came barreling over for hugs. It's so cute the way he runs for a squeeze. He doesn't put his arms out like a typical hug. He just races up arms held tight to his sides ready to be squeezed to pieces. Which is exactly what I did!
And my heart wasn't sad any more.
Because who cares if the Check Out Gal ever gets set straight.
I'm the lucky one. I'm squeezing a Mini Miracle to pieces! Every day!
And she doesn't get to know.
Maybe someday I'll share with the parents that were laughing with me in the vestibule. But that's another post altogether...