In the absence of being there is a hole in my shoe.

Through the course of my life I have learned several lessons. The first and most important one being that someone will always be there for you even when you think no one is around. The second one I learned is that someone will always try to find a way to disrupt the balance in your life even without the knowledge of doing so. And the third I learned is that if you put a sandwich bag on your foot when you have a hole in your shoe you will be just fine walking in treacherous weather. Which translated means no matter what people throw at you, you can block it from interfering with your life. Plus your foot will stay dry. People are rude, thoughtless, ignorant, and just plain ridiculous. Now granted I can be a savage beast when provoked, i.e. eating the last kit kat bar and not telling me, cutting me off just to NOT go any faster...you get the point. But of the many things I do, one thing I do not do is throw nasty insults at a child. That's right.....you knew this was coming. Take for instance my little Miss Molly. My dramatic, karasmatic, tumultuous bundle of everlasting joy and everlasting hysteria. It comes as no shocker that she is a screaming demon in the body of a four year old, and it's also no surprise that she is as much "normal" as she is autistic. I know this child like I know a good chocolate cream pie recipe. To a T. Which is why I know that this particular child is beauty incarnate not  just by the way of looks, but by the sweetness of her soul. This very soul belonging to that of a four year old. A baby. A child who has roamed this earth for a mere four years. So it makes me sit here and wonder over and over how an adult can be so cruel about a life so small. How can someone who has wandered this earth for over 3 decades look at a little life and remark in a way that is not only disgusting, but borderline astounding. As an adult shouldn't the "Been there, done that" scenario apply? I guess I have either grown too naive, or I just expect too much from people. I have gone through a journey with a child who just started to talk a year ago. I have walked hand in hand with a child who, to this very day, is still grasping to understand something she doesn't but everyone else does. I do not excuse her behaviours with the constant plea deal "Sorry officer, she would have known not to set Burger King on fire, but she's autistic." I do excuse her behaviours when she is genuinely afraid of someone or something and she cries. Because this is not just an autistic thing this is also a child thing. So have I grown partially insane in my thirties when I question why an adult-a child who has grown for many, many years- is caught by this child's siblings saying something disgusting? Have I become too sensitive or too soft when I get not only spitting angry but saddened when I'm told by two children not over the age of ten that they were heartbroken when they heard a grown man talk horribly about their sister? I am baffled how a grown-up, who is not only family, but a "doctor" in the making can sit there in earshot of an 8 year old and a 10 year old and say-about a child who was THREE at the time- "All that fucking child does is fucking cry. Well isn't that fantastic. Here I am struggling to help guide this child through the aisles of Walmart without some 41 year old woman still wearing her Tweety Bird pajama pants remarking about what a monster that kid is, when I have the same nonsense hitting home harder than I thought. So on goes the sandwich baggy, because you may see a pain in the ass child who only cries, but I see so much more. I see a timid yet fearless contradiction who will cry, and kick, and scream at you and then turn around and tell you that she loves your beautiful shirt. So I, the woman formerly known as mom to my daughter and now known as Molly Mom, will let the world have its gluttony of  visciousness. Far be it for me to make someone else feel like they've done something wrong when really all they were doing was being honest in completely ripping apart a child. Who am I to make that person feel upset for this heinous lack of judgement when, mostlikely, all they were doing was trying to feel better about themselves. This is the new world order. Feel bad about the way you look in the mirror? No problem. Just go up to a 9 year old boy at McDonald's and tell him those french fries make him look fat. And I know I have the rantings of an 80 year old alcoholic woman who was once a broadway star, but isn't the way of the world suppose to be this way? Aren't we as parents supposed to get protective over our children? There is no way on God's beautiful green earth I would feel anything less than hostility towards a person who shreds his filthy claws into not only her back, but mine as well. I have four beautiful children. Children who are not perfect, but children who envelope my life with love. These four children encase my world everyday with nothing but reasons for knowing that life is purely amazing with each one of them in it. They are all different. They are the tenderheart, the brainiac, the warrior, and the adventurer. And they are mine. So maybe I would be more insane and more naive for believing that the ravings of an insignificant being mattered in this chaotic, nonstop, beautiful world of mine.