The ABC Academy

A shrieking orchestra with no volume control fills my senses, and there's no room to think.
That doesn't matter though.
I don't get to think right now.  Right now my charged children are pulling me in every direction - there are rides, one needs the toilet, one is shy and attached to my leg despite my being pulled.  It's time to spend a gallon of energy and delight them.
     I grab their hands and make a direction decision, then we run.  I diffuse a 'proximity to Mum' argument while it's still budding, using concentrated tact.  I keep calm while I play sheepdog to get them across the car park, pleased I manage without losing my cool.  We pass the over-priced ice-cream van with only a few whines, thanks to my pre-empted mention of a supermarket trip on the way home.
I'm getting good at this!
    When another argument brims over to kicks before I get in there, I resist yelling and flex my patience.  I seperate them without raising my voice, resist my urge to snap, and encourage them to see it from the others' perspective.  The reward - two of the three are truly sorry and make up.  The other one will take a little while before her pride gives over, but experience tells me she'll get there.  I pick up the impatient forth child, who's trying to run off by himself, and we carry on.
     When we hit the rides, I get to relax for a few minutes.  They're all old enough now I can just watch and enjoy their smiles and laughter.  This bit is worth emptying our bank account to get in here.  Ahhh...
     I wave and snap pictures as an elderly dear gives me some nice compliments on my brood, followed up by the token 'gosh, are they all yours?'  I'm used to it now, even the bit where I point out my eldest and tell her he's mine too, and she gives me a less commendatory look.  So what if she thinks I'm too young?  I'm not.
     The good mood flows onto the next ride, thanks to more tact to dissolve an issue with certain rides being babyish.  I even have a spare smile for a young child close by, and his enthusiastic humming as he digs around the other toddlers in the sand pit amuses me for a minute.  
For him though, it doesn't last.  
Just as I'm collecting my four ready for their next ride, a chubby little girl waddles up and yanks his bucket away.  When he tries to get it back, his young mother pulls it quickly from his hands.  "Share" she says loudly, then she counters his frustrated screams with more loud reprimands.  
Cringe!
     She carries on as he tries to chase the snatcher for his beloved toy, finding some further part of 'overboard' to reach.  I'm humiliated for her, yet she just keeps going until her son's discontent becomes a tantrum and he has his spade confiscated too.
Just as loudly.
     I don't know where to look.  I can see the other mums are with me on this.  Yet there's some niggle deep down that's fighting off any scorn I could feel for this girl.
How many years ago was it since that was me? 
Yes, I remember going around with my young family, my youthful face telling lies.  I remember how it felt to have people look at me with disapproval.  I remember scolding a little too loud - sometimes because my temper had flown out of the window with the toy someone chucked, sometimes because I needed the watchers to know that I was a good mother.  
People shout when they discipline, don't they?  Was that right?  Was I getting that right?
   I cringe again.  How could I have done that to my little ones?  Their tender emotions!  If only I could go back now, with my experiences and maturity - surely I'd ace the job now.
     But I look at them.  Ella is helping Harriet get her safety-belt on, even though she's been annoying her.  Ethan is bigging up the ride to Max, even though he's embarrassed to be on a ride for younger children.  
They're not broken and damaged.  They're lovely.  They're happy.  And they're more than my children, they're my team, my best friends.
     They were always adored, and they always knew it.  I guess I got that bit right.  And I wonder, as I look around - did any mum in this crowd give birth and then know everything she should do?  Did anyone get it right from the word go?
Is the parent the teacher?
Yes, but so is the child.
We learned together.  I taught them and they taught me.  I don't have a string of letters after my name, but 'mother' sums that up nicely.
     I breathe a satisfied sigh, smile warm acceptance at the young mother/student, and we continue our day out.