They made my day
Ros Thomas
The Weekend West
Published Saturday March 23, 2013

The kindness of strangers is never wasted on me. Especially when I’m naive enough to believe small children can be good in a sofa shop after a lemonade icy-pole. It wasn’t the sticky hands or clothes that was the problem – I’d mopped up and they were spotless and un-sticky. Perhaps I underestimated the sugar-rush, but they were already euphoric from a swim at the local pool.

This was a day when two strangers showed me their capacity for tolerance and good humour. My children, who had been giggling hysterically in the car, wanted to go to the park. Instead, I took them to an expensive leather furniture playground.

It started out well. They were rolling around in a shag pile rug as though it was long grass. (Price: $1799, on sale.) They chose a replica Eames armchair each, counted to ten and madly swapped seats. (Price: $1950. Each)

Then while I was flipping through the fabric samples (inwardly cursing the prices) with the immaculately groomed sales lady, my 2-year-old decided to strip off her nappy and dress and leap all over a white leather sofa in the buff. (Sale price: $4050.) Her brother, impressed, threw off his shirt and shoes and ran half a lap of the cavernous showroom shrieking for his sister to chase him.

I made a mental note of the exits and then met the sales lady’s eye: “I’m so sorry, they’ve gone completely mad. Give me one second to round them up and we’ll be out of here.” Without a hint of annoyance, she said: “Oh they’re fine, this is floor stock you know  – you’re allowed to try out the furniture.” I could have kissed her.

With quote in hand, and daughter reacquainted with nappy, I decided to tempt fate by calling in at a gourmet supermarket on the way home. Already, toddler daughter was tired, and small boy was coming undone. This time, they really cut loose.

At the deli counter they went to town on the free olives on toothpicks until I lifted the whole tray out of reach and stood there like an idiot waiting for some staff member to relieve me of it.

Next my daughter decided to stack the sausages in the open fridge into towers while 5-year-old attempted chin-ups on the butcher’s rail. In the middle of this circus, I was trying to order mince for meatballs. And all the while, I was grabbing for one rascal’s arm as he whisked past me on the way to the free crackers, while I tried to convince his sister to ride in the trolley so I could manacle her to it.

A couple of bystanders awaited the results as I warned my children: “This is your last chance, I’m counting to three!” I got to three (and even tried “Four!”) but the rampage continued. I moved up a gear and threatened to withdraw all future ice creams after swimming lessons: “No , Mum no!” That seemed to work quite nicely. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older woman approaching me and mentally prepared for a dressing down. She stopped and leaned in so no- one else could hear: “You’re doing a sterling job of disciplining those little monkeys. I’m a teacher of 30 years and I know a good mum when I see one. You’re going to get lovely adults out of them one day.”

I was astonished. I didn’t know what to say so I told her the truth: “I thought you were going to give me a lecture about my terrible parenting  – the kids are completely nuts today and the third one’s not even here!” She patted me on the shoulder: “Enjoy, you’re doing fine.” Then she was gone.

All day I thought about those two women. Two strangers who had given my desperate mothering their stamp of approval. In one hour, those two ladies did more for my self esteem than all the parenting books I’ve slaved over.

Most days I question my child-rearing abilities and they come up short. Am I spoiling the little one by bribing her with a jellybean for every wee in the toilet? How hard I should come down on the big one? His 12-year-old insolence would have earned me the whack of the wooden spoon when I was his age. Am I strict enough for society’s liking? Do I care too much what other people think?

With stares and frowns, society likes to judge women on their mothering, but rarely have I seen a dad chastised in public for his fathering. I notice people act indulgently towards dads and unruly kids. They’re off limits, earning credits for effort. Mothers are fair game. Why? When I see a tantrum in the lolly aisle at the supermarket I give the mum a wink and grin: “Having fun yet?” just so she knows I’m on her side.

Perhaps that’s why a stranger’s acceptance and encouragement is such an unexpected gift. Even more reason to say to two women who clearly remembered the trials of motherhood: Thank you.