damn.

I don't often like to vent on here. Or bitch.

But sometimes I'm just at a loss. I cry and fret and talk Ben's ear off, and then, in my head, I start writing my blog entry. Because I have no other answer.

The other day, the four of us went out to dinner with my mom. We went early, as we often do, and we chose Peace-a-Pizza; a completely family-oriented place. There's a whole nook for kids, it shows kids movies, has little chairs and tables, and has art supplies at every table. Perfect right?

We were the only ones there, and all was well. Then a couple came in and sat on the other side of the restaurant. A young, healthy-looking, dressed-up (explanation to come) couple. Violet had had enough of dinner, and needed to get her energy out, so she started zipping around the tables a bit.

Now, let me pause here to say Violet can obviously be disruptive. I'm the first to admit she can have a killer tantrum, and also have no boundaries when it comes to, say, other customers. I am ON TOP of it when that happens. But it wasn’t happening on this case. I was following her, and she was running up and down one aisle of the (again, practically empty) restaurant. She was loud. Loud for an empty restaurant, not loud for a kid. I saw the woman diner roll her eyes again and again, and Ben told me later he heard her call Violet a "little shit" (grateful I did not hear that in the moment).


So, I knew she was going to approach me, and she did. I thought I was prepared- I know this moment happens for every special needs mama at one point or another, and I was ready to play my trump card. What I was NOT expecting was the reply I got in return.


her: “Um, my husband and I just left the hospital, and we haven’t even been home yet or seen each other yet, and your kid is too loud. Could you take her to the other side of the restaurant?”

me: “Sorry, but my daughter is autistic and I’m doing the best I can.”
(Prepare for looks of pity, diffuse apologies and a retreat back to her table. This does not happen.)


her: “Okay. Could you take her over there?”


me: “Um. I guess so.”



Damn.


Here’s what I would reply now:

1. “If your husband is so fragile, why did you STOP FOR PIZZA on the way home from the hospital??”

2. “If you and your husband are bonding post-hospital stay, why don’t you GET YOUR PIZZA TO GO? Or go to any of the six other restaurants in this area that aren’t FOR CHILDREN??”

3. “No. I can’t take her over there. If she bothers you so much, YOU move over there.”



It gets worse.

I actually took Violet out of the restaurant. Left Oliver, Ben and my mom inside eating pizza, and made my daughter do her jumping and singing on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. It felt so wrong even in the moment, but I did not know what else to do.

Damn.

We finally got in the car to leave, after everyone else shoveled their food in as quickly as possible. I started to cry right away. I was sad and pissed off, ashamed that I excluded Violet from our family dinner and embarrassed that I did not have the right words for this woman.

I dreamt about it that night- DREAMT about it, people. In my dream, I attacked the woman with my fingernails to defend my daughter (although in reality, she had long talon-like nails which surely would have sliced me up).

What should I have done differently? What is the line to tread? I still don't know. I wish I had some wise, full-circle words to share in closing, but I don't. I still get a stomach ache thinking about the incident, and I can only hope that I'll do better next time. Sigh