Let me preface this by saying that I’m not an overly strict parent. My children enjoy their share of screen time, and occasionally, they indulge in snacks that might even glow in the dark. I lack any competitive streak and couldn’t care less about how others choose to raise their kids. What I do insist on is good manners, and as long as my children leave the house clean, well-fed, and (mostly) happy, I consider it a win.
Before I became a parent, I was the type who wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. But now, I find myself occasionally ready to engage in a disagreement with strangers.
When I had just my son, I was constantly apologizing for him. If he cried in public, I would spin around like a top, making eye contact with everyone around me to express my regrets for the disturbance. If I had focused on comforting him instead, he likely would have cried less. I’d explain why he was upset, reassuring these strangers—people I’d never see again—that he was, in fact, a lovely baby. Looking back at my early parenting days, I can’t help but cringe; after all, he was just a baby, and babies cry.
Then came my first daughter, and things got a bit more complicated. Juggling two little ones in public can be quite the challenge, and there were moments that were downright mortifying. They both developed a knack for asking awkward questions and competing in a dramatic “We’re Leaving Somewhere Fun, So Let’s Lay on the Floor and Scream” routine. This shift made me care a lot less about what others thought.
“Oh dear! Are they tired?”
“No, they’re just being naughty.”
“I see. Have you tried insert boring advice that doesn’t apply in any way?”
In my pre-second-baby days, I might have responded with, “That’s so insightful! I’ll give it a shot because… insert flimsy rationale.” Now, though? “No.”
With the arrival of my third child, a second daughter, I faced a new level of unsolicited advice and public interference. My little one tends to scream, claw, kick, and throw tantrums that would make anyone’s head spin (she even had a pediatric referral for what turned out to be an impressive dedication to her meltdowns). She has tested my patience like no child before her.
The level of interest strangers take in how I manage my temperamental toddler is astounding, though it’s usually from a specific type of individual (one that I admit I’ve been guilty of being in the past). I’m not talking about the supportive folks who say, “I’ve been there”—they’re wonderful. I mean the eye-rollers and the “Oh dear!” crowd.
During a recent six-hour train journey with my children, aged 6, 3, and 2 (yes, you read that right, six hours), my youngest had one tantrum. The train was packed, and we had to squeeze into two seats while she wanted to wander the aisle and chat with everyone. Before I knew it, she erupted into a full-blown, shrieking rage, exacerbated by the confined space. She swung a small board book and cranked her cries up to a siren-like pitch, all while I stroked her hair and tried to avoid confrontation (which only makes it worse). Even my older kids looked embarrassed.
Out of the blue, a petite woman in her 50s elbowed her way through the crowd to reach us. With a furrowed brow and an air of urgency, she bent down to my daughter, invading her personal space, and shushed her aggressively, finger raised. Only after that did she turn to me, who was sitting there, stunned, and yelled, “That’s enough!”
Before I could process what just happened, my oldest daughter, who lacks a sense of decorum, piped up: “Don’t shout at my sister!” and pointed to me, adding, “That’s her job.”
She was spot on. Until they’re in school or old enough to understand public behavior (maybe 20?), no one but me or my husband has the right to discipline our children. Even my 3-year-old gets it. I might seem like I’m not handling things well, and I might even give the impression that I don’t care if my kids are being disruptive (which is sometimes true).
The woman left as quickly as she came, leaving me with a still-screaming child and two bewildered siblings. I had to decide whether to lose my cool on the crowded train or just let it slide and file it under “Couldn’t Care Less.” Just as I was leaning toward the latter, a woman across the aisle tapped me on the shoulder: “Sorry, not trying to interfere, but I was wondering—would you like my seat? I’m getting off in 20 minutes, and it looks like you need it more than I do.”
In that moment, I almost cried. I was grateful I hadn’t yelled at the Shusher, realizing that my choice to stay calm had turned into a dignified moment. Suddenly, I was the wronged (and battered) heroine in my own embarrassing saga.
So, the next time you feel the urge to apologize for your child’s outburst or react angrily to someone’s rude interference, take a deep breath. Remember, the good folks outnumber the rude ones by at least ten to one. Give or take.
In summary
This piece reflects on the experience of parenting in public and the unsolicited advice that often comes with it. It emphasizes the importance of standing firm in your parenting choices and recognizing that not every stranger’s opinion matters.
Keyphrase: parenting in public
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