Dear Mom at Lake Anza yesterday…I didn’t catch your name, and for that, I’m sorry.
We had had a long day. Things didn’t go as planned. My friend’s car made it to the parking lot by the Merry Go Round, and then promptly exploded. It needed to be towed, so we ended up being stuck on the grassy hill by the Merry Go Round for over an hour, waiting for a tow truck. There are only so many rounds a kid can do, and mine were thoroughly bored by the time the truck arrived. The only other point of interest, the food stand, offered up dietary horrors. And of course, with the bell of the carousel going off, nap time for Kestrel was a total no-go.
The truck’s arrival was cool, as was the process of getting my friend’s car onto the flatbed and on its way. The twin trails of coolant and transmission fluid streaked the parking lot beautifully in red and green, and that was neat too, although not for jumping in, sadly.
By the time we made it down the hill to the lake, both the boys were tired. Really tired. And hot and sticky too. So the water was such a joy. You shared your child’s toys with mine, and made their day that much better, and for that, I’m really grateful. I know I looked unprepared, and I was. I’d never been there before, and had no idea what to expect.
Eventually, came the point in the day where I could see that fatigue was coming on strong. I thought I’d timed it so that we’d head into the changing rooms, get clothes on, and get up the hill to take advantage of the coming crash.
I was utterly mistaken
Kestrel threw the tantrum of all tantrums. Complete with screaming, eyes rolling into his head, flailing… it was madness. It was all I could do to keep him off the sandy wet floor and in my arms. Rowan sat there trying to put his shoes on, without much success. And still Kestrel screamed.
Most of the people in the dressing room shot me filthy looks. A few people commented about my child. As if theirs had never done that. As if they would have done better. I tried really hard to screen them out, but you know, when you’re sitting there feeling a failure anyway because you’ve not been pre-emptive enough to stop this from happening in the first place. it feels like little mental blow-darts.
And then you again, lady with the little girl, the shared toys. You came over, made eye contact, sat right next to me, and said, “I have some Rescue Remedy, if it would help.”
I am quite sure that when angels in heaven speak, they sound very much like that.
You got the little vial, sat beside me again, and we got a few drops into his mouth. And immediately, the intensity (if not the volume) decreased. You gave me a little hug, said “good luck!”, and went on about your business.
I don’t know if I’ll be lucky enough to meet you again and thank you directly. All I know is that people like you, who do not fear to step in and help rather than judge, are so rare and so valuable and so very much to be treasured. I hope that if I am ever in your shoes, I will be able to offer the help you offered me.
And the Rescue Remedy is going into the day pack now.
