Crying at the library.

Stuff happens to me at the library, people.

Like today. I was sitting there glancing through a book I was about to check out. Mina was quietly playing on the library's iPad a few feet away.

And a few feet in the other direction there was a little boy, probably 18 months old or so. He was trying to do a puzzle at a table. His mother was nearby. I didn't really see what happened. Mostly I just could tell that his mom was telling him no about something and preventing him from getting something he was not allowed to have. Doesn't really matter what it was about, but this tiny curly-haired little boy got pretty bent out of shape. He started screaming. I don't mean crying as mentioned in the title of this blog post. No, this child was screaming.

I am not shocked or appalled by this my friends. But you knew that.

So the boy's mother did what any mother might do in that situation. She calmly tried to help him stop freaking out. But she didn't change her story. He escalated his tantrum. Still the mother stayed calm. Just about when I was thinking, Time to go, Mom. This isn't working, the mother gathered him up and tried to remove him from the situation. He escalated further and began flailing in her arms. Of course.

She carried him away. But his screams could still be heard across the whole library. A few minutes passed and I could still hear him and then she came back with him. As so frequently happens in these situations, just as she passed the corner of one of the bookshelves, the little boy threw his head back and whacked it. That didn't help.

Still the mother remained calm. She spoke now to another little boy at the table. "Come on, we have to go." This older boy, I now realized, was the tantrum boy's brother. He looked bewildered, "Why?"

But he started to follow her. Just then, another older mother came over. I didn't hear what she said at the first, but what I heard was, "Do you need any help?"

The younger mother said, "No. He just wants something he can't have. We're going now."

Then words came to my mouth. And I said them out loud, but she didn't hear me. I said, "I've been there."

But that's when the thing happened. When I said the last word, my voice choked with emotion. Emotion I didn't know I was feeling.

As I said, the mother didn't hear me. She left. And I sat there and cried. Nothing hysterical or anything. I just sat there in my chair and cried and I didn't know why.

I guess it's just because I've been there. So many times. At the library, the grocery store, the playground. Wherever. One of my children. Having some kind of tantrum. Me trying to deal with it calmly as my face gets redder and redder and my heart rate goes up.

I don't know how that mother felt. I don't know if she was embarrassed. I don't know if this was the 27th tantrum of the day or the first in a week. I don't know if her exhaustion had her about to break or if she was going to laugh this off in a few minutes. But still, I wanted to go up to her, hug her tightly, and say, "I have been where you are and I don't think anything of this. This moment doesn't reflect on you as a mother. We aren't sitting here judging you. Or your child. And you know, I have confidence in your ability to deal with this. But if you did need help, that would be ok, too. If you had let that other mother help carry your library bags to the car so you could carry your flailing boy, that would have been just as awesome. You aren't alone, unless you want to be. It's just fine to do this by yourself.

Look, Mom. You're ok. And we all think so.

I didn't say any of that. Just, "I've been there." But she didn't hear me. And, if she's anything like me, she just wanted everyone to leave her alone anyway.