What Goes Around

Biggest Brother was reading the seat swiping post on the bus on the way home from school yesterday. We held my phone in our hands, heads together. Meanwhile, Baby Sister, Big Sister and Big Brother sat in the front seats ahead of us chatting and snacking.

When we got off the bus with another woman, she stopped us and asked me, "are ALL these children yours?" I looked around quizzically. I braced for a negative bomb about to be dropped on my little children and me. I hadn't been paying a terrific amount of attention to the youngest three for a bit. I'm pretty sure I gave them all a fierce "what have you done?" look.

When I responded that indeed they were all mine, she went on to comment that she'd watched us on our ride home (Gracious. Also: Horrors!  What were we all doing!?) and that I looked "so young" to have them all. (ahahaha - I hear you laughing all the way from here! I'm laughing right along with you.)

Here was my tip off that she was about to be exceedingly (dramatically even) generous, effusive with praise. I'm no fool and I'm in fact, many days feel more haggard by the moment. I'm fairly sure the only thing keeping early onset menopause at bay is that I'm half heartedly weaning a child too big to be considered a toddler. With the exception of a few weeks, in over 10 years, I have been either or both nursing and pregnant. That begins to take a toll. And just this weekend, I paid dearly for a long beauty shop appointment during which the stylist said she had to "cover all the greys" while I stared for hours at a giant blemish on my chin. I'm not fishing for compliments and am well aware that there are worries way, way more important than my vanity. Even more, hooray my body to have delivered and sustained 4 healthy babies. But just so you are clear, only the truly giving (or even visually impaired) would say I am looking young lately. No one would mistake me for the babysitter.

She was just being really nice. And who doesn't need that?! I'll take it.

Anyhow, once she called me youthful, this kindly woman lingered at the bus stop to compliment the children! Does it get better? Well. I suppose she could have said I reminded her of a brilliant, worldly supermodel who devoted her life to charity and whose family was collectively nominated for sainthood.

Kind words indeed. So I soaked it all in. Soak being the operative word as it was once again beginning to rain. We do live in London. Captive audience, I showed her how tickled I was that both the boys were wearing badges awarded for their efforts at school that day. Now you're thinking that this was an impromptu meeting of 2 nutty woman in the rain. But, no. She was really normal. And I'm relatively so. The kids weren't getting terribly wet. They had umbrellas.

I told her that they are good helpers and friends to each other and delightful little people. They make it easy for me (on our best days). Not perfect, but perfect for the Mister and me. We're a team. That woman is lucky she's still not standing there while I yammer on about my favorite subjects. I could have also gone into all of the Mister's great qualities, too. She was very, very nice to say something so sweet and then endure my response.

As she walked away, and with memories of the less than kind women from our trip still in his head, Biggest Brother said, "See. God sent us a special messenger today."

How right he is. What a nice lesson that was. It is so easy to recall the big and little slights exacted upon us (sometimes even those undoubtedly meted out completely unintentionally). But can't it be easier still to accept a compliment and let it roll around in our heads and hearts for minutes, hours, day, years even? It was a great reminder to me to speak up when seeing someone doing something right. To send praise to others soon and often. To catch people big and small doing well.

It is a bit of a downside to being a homemaker that there are few "performance reviews." And a hazard of my job that I distribute criticism pretty readily, too. But people of all ages appreciate recognition of their efforts. When I was working, I would keep a little "atta boy" file of notes (that was way back when people wrote things on paper) that would boost me when jeers were louder. These days, praise gets stored in my head more often than in a file folder.

In the ebb and flow of our family life, sometimes it seems that we're all rowing in opposite directions. (Never more so than when we gather at the front door to our flat for about 10 or 15 minutes trying to leave while enduring multiple outfit changes, gathering of lots of stuff, nervous breakdowns and temper tantrums. And then the kids start to misbehave.) I know I am about to tempt the Fates saying so, but lately, it has been going pretty swimmingly. That someone noticed and said, "Hooray, you guys!" was much appreciated.

The kindness of a stranger will build up our strength to endure the days that aren't so good. Maybe it is the children graduating to easier stages together, maybe it was a nice, long break or a just a completely errant flukey few days, but this has been a really lovely, easier than most few weeks. I am just so tickled that someone else experienced it with us, too.

Our bus riding friend restored my faith in The Code. It doesn't take but a minute to pass along cheer. You never know just how much good it will do. Without a doubt, it just might make someone's day. She sure made mine.

Breaking the Code

We have always travelled with our smalls. On buses, on short and long flights, and very long car trips. I've done plenty of those trips without the Mister and he reports to helping families when he's travelling on business. Like everyone I know, we do our very best to help others. We're no do-gooders, it is just the right thing. Maybe even more, we do our best not to require lots of assistance. We pack backpacks of quiet games, books, snacks, and emergency supplies. We try our best.

There are lots of a kindnesses shared among travellers with and without children. You lift a bag for someone who can't and let someone go ahead who might need more time to board. Travelling is tricky enough without adding an element of competition. Getting to your destination is more an endurance test than a sprint. It certainly isn't a race with others. This isn't the Tokyo subway.

I've long been the beneficiary of the kindness of strangers on trips. On our first airplane trips with baby Biggest Brother, we were overwhelmed by the helpfulness of others as we jetted to and from Canada. After a long day and multiple connecting flights, we arrived home to discover I'd left a little zipper purse (my wallet included) in a Canadian airport restroom when changing the baby. Given the level of kindness we received in our travels, we were grateful, but honestly not terribly surprised, to have someone turn the bag in and the airline speed it to us. And it remains legendary in my mind the compassion with which staff and passengers helped me in the worst imaginable few minutes of an 8 hour journey across the Atlantic.

So being on the receiving end of someone's outright unkindness when travelling last week was a new experience. That it was another mother (and grandmother!) of small children who was the perpetrator made it sting that much more. I've always felt there was a code of sorts. People who see you pushing a stroller and hurry to get the door, a knowing smile and kind word when a child is fussing, and a general friendliness. A code. An understanding. Part of a tribe helping another.

Not so this mom. And because I'm not fully evolved, I still want to say something more to her. I can't, so thanks for listening.

Anyway, after a lovely visit to Scotland, we arrived at a bustling train station on a busy bank holiday. Lots of travellers returning home. Most of them fortunate enough to have reserved seats on the train. As our seat assignments were unreserved (we booked late), we elected to let an earlier train go without us to ensure getting 6 seats together on a later one. So we waited patiently at the train doors with others in a friendly, loose queue. Everyone knew who had arrived first (US!) and was seemingly in good spirits for a pleasant return to London.

The children and I were first in line at a door and the Mister walked our luggage to a baggage car. A mother, a set of grandparents and 3 children strode up, sized up our line and waited by an adjacent door at the neighboring train car. I am too naive to have realized at the time what they were up to. While they were smiling and chatting with us about Baby Sister's get up (a crown and wand from having visited a castle the day prior), the mother was handing the grandmother her children's backpacks. Sure enough, when all the train doors opened and I began to hoist my little girls from the platform into the train, the grandmother rushed through the other door, raced passed my stunned children and grabbed the very seats we'd obviously stood in line for. Their little backpacks holding their places. On the only unreserved seats on the train together.

Laughing and settling into their seats, the grandmother and her adult daughter seemed to congratulate themselves on their "victory" over my little brood. And the grandmother wasn't even travelling with the family - she was the designated runner - the base stealer if you will - for coveted seats on a long journey.

While I am not proud of it, it is my nature to be externally gracious while inside preparing a future breathless recount of injustices for the (poor!) Mister filled with dozens of things I should have said. But not this time. Once I finally found my children seats scattered throughout the car and received lots of sympathetic words from other passengers who had waited with us, I felt compelled to talk to those women. About how embarrassed they should be. The grandmother, still laughing, said, "You could have done the same thing." I pointed out that I wouldn't stoop so low. And that she'd broken a code among mothers. And travellers. I didn't say it all because the grandmother continued that her daughter was travelling with THREE children!

Gracious. Is the bar car open yet?

Let me say, we have dear friends with one child and lovely friends with eight children. We fall somewhere there in the middle. Family size, of all absurd things, is exceedingly personal and is absolutely never grounds for competition. But I, just this once, felt justified in mentioning that I was travelling with FOUR CHILDREN. Who were clearly better behaved than these 2 grown women.

Well. I got enough of that out to feel better. But apparently not all of it. Indeed, I sat seething in my seat for a bit, hoping that in the next 5 hours, those children and their uber-competitive, seat-swiping mom (clearly trained by her own mother) might need a diaper, a coloring book, a snack, or any of a number of things that go with us on trips. And the Mister. When he made it to our car and found the smalls and me in various corners, he said he hoped she disembarked at a stop prior to ours so he could help her off in a show of genuine kindness. And he meant it. He wasn't offering to throw those little backpacks out the window, but rather to lift her stroller carefully. And he would have. He is nicer than I am. I waved to the grandmother with a smirk on my face as we pulled away. Now who is the child?

But the Mister didn't have a chance to be gentlemanly as we all got off together in London. Prior to that, though, she eventually left their comfy seats around a big table (after her children had mild meltdowns) and sheepishly offered them to us. We didn't take them. The smalls were busy by then with their games and projects and I had my nose in a book. The Mister smiled a pleasant, "No thanks." I think I growled.

And you know the worst of it? I still feel bad. Because when I saw her husband collect his family at the station in London, I looked right through them. I'm no saint. But following a long journey with 3 children alone, seeing her reunited with her husband, I should have given her a genuine smile to say, "Water under the bridge. Enjoy the last days of break! You were lousy, but I can be, too. We all are!"

So what I'm trying to say, even if not to her directly, is just this: I broke the code, too. I'm no Pollyanna, but feel better sending her a virtual truce.

But by all means lady, don't do that seat swiping again. It is just not nice. And it looks bad in front of the kids.

Dear Virgin Atlantic

I want to commend two Virgin Atlantic employees for wonderful and heartfelt customer service that made a daunting task possible for me. The Saturday before last, I flew from London (October 22, VS021 from Heathrow to Washington Dulles) with my four children (ages 9, 7, 4, and 2) for a week’s holiday in the US. A last minute business trip meant my husband would already be Stateside and would meet us there. Our children are seasoned and happy travelers and we packed plenty of favorite and surprise books, games, and snacks to keep everyone entertained. But I was still a bit nervous about how we would all fare crossing the Atlantic encapsulated with lots of strangers. As added insurance, I’d asked for thoughts and prayers (novenas even!) from friends, family, and our parish priest.

Those well wishes and prayers were certainly answered by your crew. Thanks entirely to the kindness and service of Clare Murphy (FSM) and Yvonne (Flight Attendant just back from maternity leave), the flight was not only possible, but we were kept happy and comfortable and felt genuinely cared for despite being troublesome passengers. Clare and Yvonne will probably tell you that they were just doing their jobs and in that way, I know they’re right -- I suspect the true warmth with which they tended us is very much a part of how they treat all passengers. That we were the beneficiaries of being on their flight was our good fortune and I want them to know how much they helped me.

Without a car since moving to London last spring, our youngest child has enjoyed a life without car seat restraints as we mostly walk and ride buses in the city. At take off, she protested her seat belt in ear splitting, face melting, mortifying, heartbreaking, and maddening tantrums. We endured this with kind help from both Yvonne and Clare. It is notable that they asked me immediately what was distressing this small person instead of just trying to shush her, and actively tried to make her more comfortable. Clare suggested Yvonne stay close to us and help as needed as long as possible.

Once airborne, seat belt light off, a parade of entertainment, snacks, and naps followed for a happy 8 hours or so. Both women continued to visit and check on us throughout the flight and we were always delighted by their chats, especially those related to British football! The boys if anything, suffered from benign neglect while the girls and I snuggled in 2 seats. We were all content.

Then it was time to buckle the youngest again for our descent. She protested. Loudly. First Class passengers may have had their cocktail glasses shatter. It was like something out of a really bad movie. Only in the movie, the mom would be only comically rumpled or Adam Sandler would be the dad and it would be funny. This was all too real for an entire packed flight who had to sit with us and a crew who had lots to do. The descent began to hurt my 7 year old's ears and he started to cry. Maybe the hours of being good caught up to my 4 year old or it was just infectious, but she, too began to cry. And what is a mother to do, strapped in a seat out of reach of three crying babies? It’s true. I am not too proud to say that I started to cry, too. What a complete mess we were. Only my 9 year old managed to keep it together and I’m fairly sure he was just inking it all for notes for a future therapist.

At that very moment, Clare appeared with genuine concern written all over her face. (Maybe she was actually looking for a hidden camera hoping this was a spoof!) She knelt next to my youngest and stroked her little feet, talking in soothing tones. Then as if she were waving a wand, she directed us to rearrange our seating so I could be right next to the baby. Yvonne came too, helping with everyone. I managed to find one remaining lint covered piece of gum in my pocket to help my son's ears and my daughter began to sniff instead of sob. Within seconds, all was well and without a 2 year old screaming, I think I heard a collective sigh of relief from the entire Economy section. I’m sure if they’d been allowed to stand or didn’t fear breaking the now blissful silence, they would have given Clare and Yvonne a standing ovation.

And here I should say that credit too goes to the countless nice passengers who despite suffering through screaming, somehow instead of shooting us dirty looks, were extremely kind to me and complemented the children for being good travelers. As we left the plane I thanked Clare and told her if I tried to say just how much she and Yvonne had done for me that I would simply stand there and weep. I think there is something about parents in general, and maybe mothers in particular, that makes them look out for families with children. I am so grateful to 2 mothers on your team who mothered my clan in our travels.

When I was working I used to keep “atta boy” notes like this in a file to flip through on days when the complaints seemed to outnumber the praise. I hope this letter will make its way to both Clare and Yvonne as well as their personnel files on the odd chance they ever need reminding of their value to customers.