Yesterday the kids and I went to the bank. James was strapped in the double stroller and slightly fussy. Bennet, who was supposed to be strapped in the double stroller, was walking around it in his stocking feet. Lydia, who was supposed to be standing sweetly next to the stroller, was following Bennet.
If we had been at Mass we would have been in the hall. But we were at the bank and the teller had made a mistake so it was taking longer and the kids were a little noisy but not that bad. I mean, sometimes babies fuss and there's nothing wrong with little kids playing and laughing.
But the grumpy old man the next station over must have thought they were more than a handful and he told his teller, "I'm glad they're not my kids."
I looked at his teller, who looked at me. She clearly felt awkward. I didn't say anything, though I decided that if we left at the same time I'd let him know I had heard what he said and that I found it offensive. I don't think he was intending to be mean - I think he was essentially saying the same thing that everyone is saying when they comment, "Your hands are full!" Unfortunately for him he just sounded more rude.
But what I wish I would have done is said, clearly and just as loudly as he had, "Sir, I am glad they're not yours, too. I wouldn't give such joy to one who cannot appreciate its value."