They don't know what I know.

Dear Stryder,
About those people at Wal Mart today, the ones that were giving me the major stink eye, or shaking their heads, or even the big guy that shouted at you in his deep voice, "hey, you stop that." Don't worry about them.

Maybe they believe kids should not scream in anguish at the grocery store because their mom wouldn't let them bring their beloved blanket inside. Perhaps they are of the opinion that parents ought to be able to control that type of nonsense behavior, gosh darn it. Or they might even feel sorry for us and have pity on the woman with all those children that she obviously has no clue how to handle.

I guess they can draw whatever conclusions they want.

They are probably not aware that I didn't let you bring in your blanket because we once lost one of those valued-above-all-else-soft-bundles-of-pure-joy-to-you in that very store months ago, and the effects of that were far more traumatic than one unpleasant shopping experience.

They might not understand that demanding perfect external performance from my children is one of the most futile, exhausting, frustrating, aggravating things I could or will ever do with this cherished role of motherhood I've been given. I've tried it enough to know that it leaves me deflated and perpetually disappointed so I'm doing my best to leave perfection to God Alone and stop expecting it from any human being.

They don't know how far you've come my little boy. How you used to scream all the time at the store, every single trip and it was oh so hard for me. But, in recent months, you've grown up a lot. You've learned to vocalize, to use your words to express your frustrations much better, most of the time, and that's good enough. We all have bad days where we revert to our immature ways.

They may not realize that I did try. Your mother, as discretely as I possibly could gave you the Dobson pinch in hopes it would get you to stop. It did not and there is no, absolutely NO, no matter what the "experts" say way that I am going to turn around and leave my cart at the store and go home without the things we were there to purchase to 'teach you a lesson.'

They don't know how hard it has been for me to accept that I will have no more babies (without miraculous intervention, which I do pray for by the way) and that over the years I've come to learn I should cherish these moments, they pass me by more quickly than I am ready, and there is no getting my 3 year old back once he turns 4, then 5, then 6....
I'm okay with a 3 year old being free to act like a three year old, getting inordinately upset over third year of life concerns, like blue blankets. If you were 13 crying over your wittle wobie, we might have a weal pwobwem.

They weren't there to witness that your sister Jayla, who is nearly 8 used to be attached to her blanket like none other, nor do they see that same pretty pink small quilt now sits, alone. Neatly folded up in her closet never to be loved again with the same fierce devotion that a toddler shows her snuggly. It has become a keepsake, a memory.

That you, my boy, following in your sister's footsteps, will one day leave the house without a second thought to the location of that silly blanket. That I can already envision the future when you will laugh that you used to throw such a fit over your dirty, drag around source of comfort. That the day you leave that blanket behind will be one of those times that takes me suddenly by surprise, that my throat will tighten up when I realize what just happened, and I will be sad to see that time come.
I am not about to wish these short years away, or waste them trying to please strangers at Wal Mart who may choose to judge.
I'm just not.
Those people, they don't know what I know.

I love you Stryder. More than I can use my words to vocalize. I almost want to scream it : )