To the Super Nice Granny in the Smoking Hot Mustang

Dear Super-Nice Granny,

I'm really sorry about this afternoon at Wal-Mart.

See, the thing is I know, I really do know, that you were offering me a gift of kindness with your sweet smile and encouraging words. You just happened to be the first person to ever do so after many, too many, public tantrums by my dear Sir Screamsalot.

I didn't mean to cry on you; I was simply at my wits end.

And, I have to apologize to you, too.

When I pulled my van out of my parking space only to see you waiting in your smoking hot silver Mustang (oh, how I adore the restyled body on that vehicle and give you double thumbs up for getting the souped up V-8 engine), my first thought was, "Can't you just park two spaces up and walk an extra twenty feet, lady?"

Please forgive me; charitable thinking does not always come easily to me after five minutes of wrestling with a screaming, kicking, slapping, body-slamming toddler.

Then, when you motioned for me to roll my window down into the blazing hot July afternoon heat, I had a moment of panic. Did I, while desperately trying to safely navigate my darling van Claudine (who is an 8-seater and therefore, in hip-hop terms, has some serious back) as my Intrepid Toddler thrashed and wailed at full volume (and I can most definitely assure you that his full volume is 11) in his carseat, back into your smoking hot muscle car without realizing it?

Then, I saw your smile, and heard your words:

You're a good mom! You didn't back down! You're doing a good job!

And I have to tell you, that even as I type this post while my three smallfolk are sleeping and my home is finally, finally at that blessed hour of peaceful quiet, there are tears gathering at the corners of my eyes as I write those words.

I'm so sorry if I seemed rude to you, waving you away and rolling my window up. Your kindness caught me off-guard at that moment and overwhelmed my emotional circuit board. I had to wave you away because I couldn't speak, you see.

I can never talk clearly when I'm sobbing uncontrollably.

Do you know, you're the first person in more months than I can count who ever stopped to give this overworked and underslept mom a vote of support during one of my two-and-a-half year old's notorious public meltdowns?

Most folks just eyeball me and my crew of Royal Monkeys; Sir Screamsalot has a way of breaking the sound barrier with his horrendous tantrums. In the vacuum of silence between his shrieks and strangled, shouted words, every pair of eyes in the room, store, or parking lot shifts it's full focus upon him and of course, upon me, his MOTHER.

Some folks look away, remembering that all-purpose rule of etiquette: it's not polite to stare.

Some look and half-smile, shrugging their shoulders in a gesture of empathetic understanding. These are always other moms or grandmoms who've been there, done that.

But most just stare and watch the show. And when Sir Screamsalot ups the ante by slapping, hitting, and kicking, some begin to snort or mutter under their breath. They think I don't hear them, but I do.

I want to tell them: he's only two.

Or: don't be so quick to judge.

Or, the one that really means something: look at how kind his older brother and sister are, how well-behaved and polite they are. Can't you see that I'm clearly doing something right?

But I say nothing; all I am focused upon is finishing the errand at hand and leaving as quickly as possible.

So your words, your thoughtfulness in driving over to where my van was parked to bless me with your kindness, overwhelmed me.

It is no longer normal for us moms who daily battle tantrums, whines, sibling spats, and every bit of bad behavior known to children to feel supported by society in general in this brave new age of mommying.

And that, my dear, sweet, hot-rodding granny-angel, is why I will pray for you tonight before I rest my tired eyes.

I will pray that someone will bless you with a moment of unexpected kindness and love when you feel most vulnerable.

And I will pray that one day far in the future, when I'm tooling around town in my own 'roided-up two-seater, that I will remember this day when I see a mommyfolk struggling to keep it together.

Remember, and act as you did: selflessly, and with love.

WM