Once Upon a (Who's the) Child?

Did you ever hear the expression,

"One fly can ruin your picnic?" 

While I'm usually the one giving most people the benefit of the doubt, recently, I had the opportunity to see a different, not-so-sweet-side of motherhood at our local children's second-hand store.

I do like Once Upon a Child.  They buy and sell gently used children's clothing, toys, and gear that, sooner or later, you'll need.  Buy, sell, and repeat.  Like a Netflix exchange for baby stuff.

But this particular day, we had no idea what else we'd be exchanging in among the merchandise.     

We entered the store, huffing and puffing from carrying in our load.  It wasn't much.  Just a few (still assembled) large-ish pieces of baby gear that Jackson had grown too big for.

What had once been household staples and baby items I could not do without, were now not only dangerous for him to use, but they were taking up prime real estate in our modest 3 bedroom ranch (Because apparently, the 30% less plastic that Aquafina now uses in their water bottles went straight to the workshops at Fisher Price).

Being the sort of mom that I am, it's not like me to take on cumbersome tasks by myself without enlisting the sort of help that Santa relies on each 24th of December.  Because more hands make lighter work.  Or something like that saying.  Anyway, it was a miracle that we were able to fit everything in the van, believe me.

When the friendly women working behind the counter greeted us, they gave us detailed instructions on how they wanted this to go down.  Operating in a 3-man band, Phil, Kayleigh, and I listened closely and complied with their specific requests, as we took turns with Jackson walking around the store.  We were told that they needed to verify that all equipment was in good working order, tested with batteries AND electrical outlets both, and they would be ready to check us out and give us cash or store credit for our items in about 20-30 minutes.   

The next few moments came on fast and furious.  A few feet away, stood a mother with a toddler around 18 months in age from what my eyes could quickly tally.  I don't know where she was a second ago, but she had suddenly materialized between myself and the counter in about 1.5 seconds, arms flailing. 

"WHAT??!!!  You just told them they could get finished in 20 minutes!!??  You told me it would be at least 45 minutes to an hour and I WAS HERE BEFORE THEM!!!!  That is just not right!!!"

And she went on.  And on.  And on. 

Despondent, the sales clerk looked flustered but stayed professional. 

"Ma'am, we issued you a longer wait time because you have several bags of clothing.  We need to go through each piece and it takes a lot longer.  This other family only has equipment.  The wait time for that is much shorter.  But we will do the best we can to get you out quickly."

The woman was still not happy with the store clerk's response.  But all I could do at this point was look at the face of her adorable child who was oblivious to his mother's rant.  He was so cute.  Sensing possible foul play, I asked Kayleigh to walk with Jackson while Phil and I stayed up front with our stuff. 

It was hot.  And I know that waiting anywhere with a toddler who is awake and ready to roll is as fun as tax preparation on a unicycle.  But she still didn't have to say the things she said next.

"Well!  I am a single mom, and I don't have a husband or anyone else here to help me with MY baby!  Being a single mom is not easy, you know!"  Then, looking DIRECTLY at me, she continued, "YOU'LL SEE.  YOU'LL find out soon enough."   

Bug eyes.  That is what I'm sure I was sporting.  "Wait, what did she just say?" the non-chiming, still calm part of me quietly piped up.  Was she really implying that my husband leaving me was imminent to my future?

Phil muttered under his breath in the direction of my ear.  "I think I know why she's single."

I asked Phil to clarify because I wasn't sure I had heard correctly. 

He nodded.  I had heard correctly.  I could not believe she had chosen to make it so personal. 

Ma'am, I'm sorry you're a single (and crabby!) mom, but that's really not my problem.  And it's certainly not fair to get angry and spiteful just because I have a husband and some extra helping hands! 
(thought, but not actually spoken because I'm such a chicken and I avoid confrontation at all costs)

You could have stuck a fork in me, but I was still not done being completely taken aback.  I stood frozen with a look on my face halfway between disgust and defeat.

She seemed satisfied with herself for being so irate.  Like she'd just climbed Mount Bitterest and staked her initialed flag into the peak with a triumphant hmmph!

But I didn't take the bait.  I exhaled deeply and agreed with my inner self to just let this go.  Inner self, you're such a wuss.

I would have words with my inner self later.   

I amped up the smiles, rolled my eyes for dramatic effect (can you blame me?!), finished filling out the paperwork, and we browsed around, leaving the tigress in search of another piece of meat.  I wasn't going to be anyone's zebra hide today.

What I felt then?  Sorry for her.  I ended up telling myself that she was probably in the middle of an awful messy divorce, was stuck alone with a toddler to fend for herself, and maybe someone had even rear ended her on the way over.  I just wasn't in the mood for a tussle. 

And after the whole ordeal, I used the experience to fuel my thankful tank.  I know I am blessed.  I am fortunate to have a very helpful and hardworking husband, a step-daughter who is second to none and gives me so much of her time and energy, and an easy going little man who makes most days a Mama's dream come true. 

I have my cranky days too.  But this woman reminded me--even if in a rather depraved way--that just because we have the right to free speech, does not mean we need to exercise it ALL. THE. TIME. 

Of course, we'll continue to visit our local resale shop.  But maybe next time, I'll bring my husband, his buddy Ron, my Father-in-law "Nutsy," and our good friend the "Cave Man" along for the ride.