Kiss My Knits!

Went to Beadlush today to see the trunk show for Green Girl Studios. I’m not beading that much now, but I’ve loved their stuff online, so I was looking forward to seeing it in person and maybe picking something up. I also kind of wanted to see if I could find some tiny little trinket to send to , just ’cause she was so kind to sponsor that Interim House contest. (Note, they’re heavy. Probably too much so for stitch markers, Mel, sorry.)

I went with my daughter, since my husband watched her for a good chunk of the day yesterday while I did some non-kid-friendly errands. She and I have been going to beadlush for about five years now. They’ve got a kids’ corner that she likes to play in, so it’s not a problem.

Until today, that is, because they had taken up the kids’ corner to make room for the trunk show. So my daughter was walking around touching things. I gave her instructions to leave all the jewelry on the stands and kept an eye on her while I started to look at the beads. She came over and started touching the Green Girl beads, as she usually does with all the beads in the store when I tarry too long. She’s got clean hands, and because of her autism, she doesn’t mix them up. She actually straightens them and puts any strays back in their correct spaces.

I didn’t hear the guy with the trunk show asking her not touch them the first couple of times, as he had a soft voice. My daughter didn’t hear either, but once I realized, I asked her not to touch them.

Him: “They’re fun to touch, but not so fun to sort back out again.”

What I should have said: “Right!”

What I did say, with a smile: “Well, she’s mildly autistic, so believe me, when she’s done, they’ll be sorted within an inch of their lives.” And then I repeated to her that she shouldn’t touch them.

Him, smiling: “I hear you, I understand completely.”

Her fingers were still itching, so I gave her my keys, like you would a toddler. And then I just got really sad, because the whole exchange was just another reminder of how my child is different. And even if I hadn’t said anything about her to the guy, I still would have been sad, because it would have all been there in me. And I started to tear up and we went ahead and left quickly. The shop owner, who knows me by name, spotted me on the way out and said hi, and I said as cheery a hi back as I could as we left, so it’s not like we left in a huff or anything.

The guy was absolutely right. It’s very rational to ask a seven-year-old to keep her grubby paws out of the beads. And while I doubt that he did ‘understand completely’ I also am sure my statement was an awkward thing to have to respond to. It’s not him, it’s all me. But rationality can fly out the window when it’s your child.

We’re back home now. I thought about going back alone. The show ends in an hour. There were some neat pieces and I did want to see them. But I think that even if I went and bought something, when I wore it I wouldn’t think, “hey, what a nifty piece!” but instead “I remember when I got this, and the sadness I felt that day.”

There are bigger problems to have in the world, I know, it’s just… dispiriting.