It’s Monday. We’re running late. Again. Bug is finishing her homework in the car as we battle rush hour traffic on the way to school. Being the good mom that I am, I suggest she simply blow off the homework. She insists on doing it. She promised her teacher on Friday she’d finish this particular assignment—a poem, something she’s good at—over the weekend. Plus, she’s deathly afraid of being sent to Study Hall. Until she started fourth grade, she had no idea such an evil place existed. She is determined to avoid it at all costs.
We roll into the car line at school just as the final bell blares. Bug crams her poem into her backpack. A tall, cheerful-looking father I don’t know waves us to the front of the line. As he leans over to open her door, Bug drops her backpack, which, of course, is not zipped up. Her binder, lunch, pencils, rocks and other assorted treasures spill on the floor. Lovely words spill from her mouth. I reach back to try and help her. She slaps my hand away.
The grin fades from Happy Dad’s face. He staggers back from our car as if it’s radioactive. Bug scowls and storms past him to her classroom. The dad stares at me with a “What’s up with THAT?” look. I shrug my shoulders, give him a little “Kids—what are you gonna do?” smile and drive off.
Another day, I might have tried to make excuses for Bug. Or felt guilty and embarrassed. I’d probably drive away all worried about what this guy was thinking about my daughter. And me. But on this day, I realize something as I exit the school parking lot: It actually feels pretty good to just not give a crap about what people who know nothing about our situation think of us. I need to remember that.
This post will be featured in Edition 11 of Best of the Best on S-O-S Research, a blog that offers support for parents raising kids with “invisible disabilities.” Click on this link, Family Life: Fun, Loving and Special, on Saturday, October 15 t
Awesome Post! I’m glad you’re working on this skill, I still have no idea how to tackle it, but it’s encouraging that you feel so much better for doing it. Way to go super mom!
Thanks, Mama Bear! It’s a tough one, isn’t it? Certainly not the norm for me–yet!:)
That is so funny! I love the part about the smile fading from happy dad’s face. Ooops, reality jumped right in there and messed up his plastic life buzz…lol…
!!!!Loud and enthusiastic clapping!!!!
Love your ability to take this step. It’s so tiresome to constantly be trying to figure out what to say, how much to disclose . . . and the times we’ve been somewhere with Lily yelling, witnesses looking on and wondering if they need to intervene . . . OY!
I have had that “Dad’s look” more than once when it comes to my Bipolar son. I have learned to smile just like you and drive or walk away. It doesn’t even phase me anymore.
Have a good day!
This is great! I SO need to work on not giving a crap. It’s not easy….
Thanks, Patty. No, it’s not easy to care what other people think about us. But I’m trying to work on it. P.S. Just took a quick peek at your blog and love it. Look forward to checking it out in more depth soon.
Shari, sorry for the late response, but thanks for your comment. I have a ways to go before I’m not bothered by this stuff anymore, but inspiring to hear that you can get there! – Bug’s Mom
Good, For, You! Keep at it!
Great post!! Good for you