*

No, it wasn’t, I guess, really, the worst day ever.  But it’s up there, among the bad days.  We are back in St. Andrews now, and our show opens tomorrow.  We arrived back yesterday, with the four kids in tow, two vehicles, more pottery, postcards promoting our work, and a reservation at a motel *with a swimming pool!*.  The kids were excited, I was excited.

*

We headed straight to the gallery. The kids were losing their minds.  I finally sent Lee off to the park, so I could deal with the stuff and the people without losing my own mind. Lee and the kids came back, and we decided to go get dinner at a pub less than one block down the road.  I said, “Let’s walk”.  Lee didn’t want to walk, he had stuff in the car, he wanted to move the car.  I said I would walk anyway, and would meet them down the road.  The kids were already sitting in the car, and when Lee got in, I reminded him to make sure they were all buckled in properly.  I started walking.  Lee got them in their respective seats, then pulled out.  As soon as he turned onto Water street, I saw Felix in the back, struggling in his seat, and then wiggling madly, and then his little blonde head emerging from the back window of the car, along with half of his body.  He was basically dangling out of the window of a moving car.

*

I started to scream, and run after the car, gesturing wildly.  I flagged Lee down, and he was already pulling into a parking spot.  I ran, out-of-breath, up to the car, almost in tears, and asked him what the HELL do you think you’re doing? Berating myself, in my head, for not just putting the kids into their seats myself, berating myself for even coming here, which is when I saw the woman across the street.  She was strolling along, head held high, an expression of horror and delight on her face, and she called out to me waving with her phone “I have a photograph of that!!!!!!”  she chortled.  “What kind of person–WHAT KIND OF PERSON–Lets their child ride in a car without a seatbelt!!?!??!”.  Stunned, and then terrified, I ran across the street and up to the woman.  “That’s my husband, and it is completely unacceptable, I totally understand.”  I said.  “What KIND OF PERSON does something like that?” She said again, clearly thrilled with  her own rightness.  “I took a photograph of it.  I have a picture of your son hanging out the window.  If that were my husband, I would be furious.”  I said, “Yes.  I am livid.  I’m very very upset, and he made a mistake.”  She then said, “I have two children myself, and I would *NEVER* let that happen”.  I then started begging.  Begging for her to please not call anyone, please don’t phone the police, please don’t put the photo on Facebook.  She smirked, exuding an unbearable smugness, a sickening pleasure in her vigilance and superiority and power, turned her back on me, and walked away.

*

Of course, not a week passes that I don’t see another thread on Facebook, describing with sickening righteousness, how someone called the police on this person or that, for this car-seat transgression or that. It’s a pastime, really, for a certain contingent of nasty person who manages to convince themselves that this actually constitutes doing a good deed. Anyone who knows me and loves me will be able to corroborate that I am a *fiend* when it comes to car-seat safety.  An absolute fiend.  But I’ll never understand how anyone could truly believe that the answer to seeing someone whose kids aren’t riding safely, is to involve the cops, or social services, rather than to be kind, to help, to make some sort of human connection.  The quickness with which others threaten, gloat, and jump to turn others in to institutions that really don’t actually care about families, or communities, or children, betrays a worldview that makes me despair for humanity.

*

I went back to the car and had a breakdown, which I’m sure was duly noted by half of the community of St. Andrews who were enjoying a sunny afternoon on main street.  My family is a wreck, my husband is hopeless, my children are animals, and other human beings are disgusting. Then we went to the motel, and within ten minutes of checking in, I received a call from the manager saying that the adjacent suite had already complained that the children were being too loud.  I packed our stuff up, explained to the manager that this was just the way things are, and we left that motel.  The only place with any vacancy was down the road, and they rented a one-bed room to me, very kindly, that absolutely reeks of the most potent combination of cat urine and mildew.  Lee woke me up at 3 am to inform me that the toilet had overflowed, because, along with my other gifts, I am apparently, the resident 24/hour plumber. WTF.

*

Please let today be better.  Please let today be tolerable. Please let that woman go home and decide against calling social services on me and my family.  Please.