And breathe…

I hug Youngest to help him calm and regain control of his brain (aka regulate). He’s mostly a happy chappy, except when he’s positively not. Right now, he’s expressing distress in an impressively attention-getting manner and volume. It’s a cool Saturday in town and despite sitting on a bench tucked away from the main throng, my plan for quiet co-regulation is about to be hijacked. And not by Amy.

I spot the stranger approaching and avert my gaze. He continues to get curiously closer and asks:

What’s wrong with him?

I wholeheartedly wish I could come up with a withering slam down, but my brain’s otherwise occupied.

‘He’s sad’ I say, with a tone that states that This Conversation Is Over.

‘Why is he sad?’ asks the man, sensing none of my go-away facial expressions, intonation and body language.

‘Because he is five,’ I say even more dismissively, whilst tutting audibly and turning away from him, as Youngest continues his deafening wail in my ear. ‘It’s also none of your goddamn business’ are words I want to add, but don’t.

A few minutes ago, Youngest and I were in a cafe waiting for Eldest and Andy to turn up, so we could order and enjoy a nice lunch out. Youngest was out of sorts. I waved the menu; he threw it down. I offered to read him a book; he crawled under the table. He kept doing the exact opposite of everything I said and I failed to shrug off his defiant eff-you attitude. Lunch out should be a relaxing time, but today it turned into a battle I was too tired to fight. As I became exasperated, I told him that if he didn’t do [whatever it was] we would leave. Because at this point, I still subscribed to the director’s cut boxset of TradP (Traditional Parenting).

Guess what?

Youngest stubbornly and predictably chose not to. He’s going through that phase where if I count to five, he only starts moving on six. When I ask him to come here, he crawls along the floor on his belly but wails ‘I AM coming’ if I call him out on it. Yet he is so often calm and loving that these glimpses of fire and anger are so surprising and random that we’ve yet to discover what triggers them or even how to handle them without pulling the pin. Today, when I’d hoped (prayed) for a simple, easy meal with my family, he poked all my buttons and my patience ran out. I drew a line in the sand, and he jumped over it, kicking sand in my eyes.

Without even ordering, I stood up, put my coat on (his face!), picked up his coat and moved to leave. He frowned as if he hadn’t expected me to keep my promise. Andy and Eldest were just walking in as I walked Youngest out, my face like thunder as I muttered we’re leaving through gritted teeth.

I didn’t win any parenting medals today.

I didn’t make anyone happy.

I didn’t feel good about myself or my parenting.

I’d face planted into a TradP trap where nobody won.

And now I’ve a bawling child on my lap and an inquisitive stranger to handle.

Dear Stranger: if you feel you deserve the full backstory, that was why my son was crying.

And you also inspired me to create:

THE RULE

Say you are out in public and you see an adult with one or more children.

Perhaps you’re drawn to the scene because the youngsters are being loud, or upset, are kicking and screaming, are sulking in a corner, or being timed out in the middle of the pavement. Something that perhaps offends your idea of an ordered, peaceful grown-up life without interruptions from trainee grown-ups.

Perhaps you are now staring (in a way that parents find incredibly helpful and encouraging) and you start (unbelievably) thinking ‘maybe I could help.’

Here’s how to know if you should add your tuppence-worth into the fray:

If the adult in charge of that child turns around to you in despair with a furrowed brow and asks you directly ‘what should I do?’ THEN (and only then) should you sally forth with your advice and opinions.

If they DO NOT turn to you and ask you directly, then you must immediately button it and walk away (tutting optional).

Let me repeat: unless a parent directly invites you to contribute your thoughts and suggestions on the situation, then please under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you open your mouth and proffer it.

I don’t care how long you’ve been looking forward to reading the paper with your monthly cappafrappacino-almondmilk-nosyrup, or if their child’s wailing is forcing you to turn your hearing aid down, or if children weren’t like that in your day, or if you watched one episode of SuperNanny and consider yourself God’s gift to parenting, or how convinced you are that’d you’d be doing a much better job in the circumstances.

If you don’t like the noise, feel free to get up and leave. If you don’t like being around children, go watch an 18-rated film. You won’t find them there.

If it helps you deal with your emotional reaction, turn to your friend and complain about how the world has gone to the dogs since parents stopped hitting their children, or whisper loudly enough for us to hear your views on our inadequacies. And get over yourself.

Because one thing has proven time and again only to make an already volatile situation worse: the half-arsed ramblings of a complete stranger.

Parenting is hard. Rock hard. In public, parenting is rock hard with knobs on. When everyone’s eyes are on you, every single whine, every windmill arm, every NO, every WON’T, every time your child runs in the opposite direction feels magnified a million times.

To that woman I saw gently dragging her bawling child out of Poundland, lying on the floor, screaming over some piece of inexpensive tat that you weren’t going to buy, I salute you. You held your head high and did what you needed to do, regardless of the judgemental glances, tutting and jaw-dropped audience. To everyone who has ever done what their child needed despite stares and tutting, good on you. Because parenting is hard and not one single person watching from the sidelines knows your child better than you.

To the rest of you: jog on.

Tut if you have to. Eye roll if you must. But leave them to it. They’ve got this, even when it doesn’t look like it from where you’re sitting.

If you are in the cheap seats, watching, look away and bite your tongue. Or move along.

There is nothing to see here.