Compliment Snob

I had to get groceries today.  Just a few to tide us over.  So I'm here to admit that I do not enjoy lugging both of my children to the grocery store or any other store for that matter - because it requires more effort than I care to expend on the task - whatever it may be.  Who needs bread and chocolate milk? 

And those of you with multi-packs of kids, well...bless you.  Because I have two arms.  Two legs.  Two ears.  Two eyes.  And in keeping with what seems to be a God-given indication to go and do likewise, I have two kids.  One for each side of my tired body to keep up with day in and out.

And I think we've covered that I'm crazy about them, right?  But jiminy cricket...I have fantasies about sleep that you would not believe. Sleep and chocolate.  Sleep and chocolate and having Cable TV again.  Sigh.

Now let me share for a moment a new experience that is keeping me indoors.  And you mustn't think me a snob.  No, I beg you.  Please don't.  I'm not.  I swear.  But I've grown tired of going out lately for another reason and it sounds hideous to admit - like I'm fishing.  And I'm SO not fishing for anything.  No fishing.  Don't even like fishing.  Or boats.  Or vast areas of water.  But I digress...

I dread going out with both kids because of the stops and stares and comments.  We are a walking eye-magnet.  I know those of you with adopted kids from different races might understand.  I dread it.  Not because I'm not upside down proud of my kids.  You know I am.  It's because lately I can't get ten feet out of my car before someone stops. stares. and comments.  And these are nice people.  Most of them, anyway.  And they say the nicest things.  They do!  But I'm so tired of it.  So, so tired...  

Despite what my husband may believe, I do have a limited number of words that I can form and use in a day.  Most of them are spent on "no" and "don't touch that" and "stop climbing on that".   Also, I'm tired - but we've covered that.  I don't want to stop every few minutes and give an impromptu interview on our adoption story.  Where they're from, when did we adopt, how old they are...and then have to listen politely while the stranger regales the tale of a friend of a friend who adopted and had this or that experience...yada yada yada.  Smiling and trying to pretend like I'm totally interested just because I adopted.  I know, it's sounds bad.  But how many hours are there in a day?  Now, I ask you!  And I have to stand there and go through those motions every time we go out.  Every time, people.  No, seriously.

And I dread a trip to the store lately anyway, because we're heavy in the terrible two's.  Yessiree we sure are.  And I know that we're most likely going to have one or two or more episodes in any given store that we enter.  We sure are.  Today being NO exception.

So while I can sort-of appreciate the sentiment behind the kinds words and compliments about my kids and the questions and the stares and double takes...it also makes me feel just a little bit like a walking anomaly.  Like we're on display.  Like we're just asking to be "pulled over" on isle five and get the run-through by some person who just couldn't help themselves. 

There I am, pushing a cart with my two year old African son, and my Chinese daughter, who  by the by, slobbers all over the cart cover and gnaws on my purse strap.  Smiling and coo-ing at passersby and using her chubby cheek powers of charm and will to drag them over and make conversation. 

Quint playing peek-a-boo with strangers and shyly ducking under my legs before I know what has transpired.  He's a charmer, that one.

But then the approach...the smiling at me, and sometimes the touch on the arm (ps, I don't enjoy the touch on the arm...no, I sure don't) and then the verbal drooling over the kids that always starts with "I just have to tell you..." or "are they yours" or "I just have to ask" or "I saw you on the other isle and..." or, and this is CLASSIC, "are you a daycare provider?" or how about TODAY "where is she from?" loudly and all of a sudden from behind me...which took me off-guard and made me feel a little like a deer in headlights.

I know.  I sort of need to get over it.  But it's hard for me.  I feel protective of them, of us, of their right to fit in...be normal...I don't know.  It just feels so overwhelming to not blend in at all.  To draw so much attention wherever we go.  And maybe it should feel nice, but for some silly reason, it doesn't.  It just feels like overload. 

And here's the potential for seeming like a compliment snob.  (which I'm not)  I think it's great that people love babies and kids.  Maybe even nice when I hear them talking about my kids over my shoulder.  But I do not enjoy so much the being approached and told as much.  I know.  Snob.  But I'm not, I swear!  It just makes me uncomfortable.  Not because I disagree, or I'm worried about vanity or whatthefrigever-else.  It's not.  It's just because it's All The Time.  I'm not kidding you.  This is serious over here.  I can't go to the store, the bank, the drive up window, the church...even for a walk in my own neighborhood.  I get stopped constantly.  I get hollered at across isles and parking lots and streets.

And I'm a little on the anti-social side.  Gasp!  I know.  Surprise, surprise.  And it's not fun for me.  I dread it.  Did I say that already?

I dread it.  

Getting through the grocery store today took way too long.  Because I got stopped no less than five times as I tried to race through, frantically trying to avoid the pending meltdowns and cry-fests...watching the clock to see if nap-time was encroaching or long gone...

Woe.  Woe to me.

And I get that they're cute and adorable and all those good things because they're my kids...and I think all those things about them too.  I do.  But I see cute kids all the time, and I don't rush over to tell their parents.   Do you?  Uh-oh...are you one of those people who stops the parents?  Oh dear.  Well, I get it, I do.  You're just happy people.  With nice things to say.  And they're cute...I agree!

And so today, after several "stops" throughout the grocery store, including one in the parking lot on the way in, the checkout cashier gushed all over them like she had never seen two children of different race in the same cart.  Ever.  In her life.  Sigh...  We're not from a small town over here.  We're from a big town.  A big city even. 

This is what I'm talking about when I say "I dread it":

Cashier: "She's really cute".  

To which I replied with a simple but sincere "thank you".

And then the weirdness...

Cashier:  "Well, is she nice?"

Blink.  Blink.  Stare. (me)

What?

What the what?

Is she nice?

As in, nice to have around?  Nice, as in polite?  Nice as in 'not mean'?  

"Ummm...nice?  Yes, of course she's nice..."  I replied.  Forget she's nine months old. Forget she doesn't speak.  Or crawl.  Or hold her own bottle yet.  Nice?  As in one of those traits I'm still working out in my own adulthood?  Nice?

I don't even know how to answer half the inquiries I get.  Seriously.

Just get me to my car so I can go home.  

The circus is now leaving...you can all go back to your shopping.

By the time I get them successfully strapped into their car-seats and close the doors, I'm exhausted.  Exhausted from feeling like we're a sideshow.  At the grocery store.   At the bank.  At the mall.  At the Post Office.  Enter location _________here.

I guess I'm not nice.  Maybe she should have asked me if I was nice? I just don't like the overt compliments and inquiries.  I'll pass.

Can you relate?  Surely some of you can, right?!?  Please tell me somebody out there "gets" me?