Whatever combination of multiple children you have...let's say one-year-old twins and an almost three-year-old for example, you learn to distinguish the dirtbags versus the good Samaritans real quick like.
Take for example the time when you had no other choice than to lug all three of your children to the doctor's office. And let's say for example, that the double stroller you have at this juncture in life is a piece of doodie. You are therefore forced to carry your (then) infant twins in their two-ton car seats, while simultaneously trying to firmly explain to your (then) two-year-old how important it is NOT to leave your side without sounding like "Mommy Dearest." Upon your arrival to the double doors of the doctor's office you are pleased to learn that the pretty blue disability button you have come to adore, is not operational, hence no magic opening of double doors for you. Now you really are starting feel like you might be channeling Joan Crawford. Arms about to detach, two-year-old en route to meltdown, your own urge to throw a tantrum is temporarily halted by two individuals inside the double doors--let's call them Jack and Jill.
But what's this? Jack and Jill continue to talk amongst one another despite the fact of you being in spitting distance of them...with two-ton car seats...with two fussy babies...with a sweet but exhausted two-year-old. One minute--two minutes--three minutes and Jack and Jill are still pleasantly chatting away. Realizing that your importance to Jack and Jill is somewhere between 0 and -10, you are forced to set down the car seats, wrench one double door open, awkwardly squeezing and intermittently getting the overstuff diaper bag smashed in the dang thing, corall your two-year-old through first, and one-by-shoulder-popping-one, carry each car seat inside the doctor's office. Wiping sweat and hair from your windblown forehead (the wind another fun obstacle of prying double doors open), you celebrate the success of managing a preposterous situation on your own.
Still, you have one last hope of being acknowledged by Jack and Jill, who continue to idly chat about God knows what. After all, there is one more door to open to get inside the actual doctor's office. What's this? Jack and Jill look at you! They see you and your crazy matted hair, unruly children and exploding diaper bag. And then... (insert let down noise here) waaaa--waaaa, Jack and Jill merely send a half-hearted smile your way, not even taking a mili-second to halt their precious conversation. Again, you repeat the harrowing process, this time with an even smaller door, and even more sore limbs than prior to the double door experience. All the while Jack and Jill remain oblivious to you, your screaming kids, and diaper bag (which now resembles a geiser showering diapers in the air).
On the way out from the doctor's appointment, you pray you don't see Jack and Jill. You try to make excuses for their shortcomings: maybe they were a couple in the throws of passion (although by the look of Jack, it probably wasn't the good kind of passion), perhaps they were discussing top secret FBI matters (really, in a doctor's office lobby?), or maybe they have never had children...or at least not as many as you and just don't get it. Because how on earth could two human beings with reasonable intellegence NOT OPEN THE FRICKN' DOOR FOR SOMEONE CARRYING TWO TWO-TON CAR SEATS, A DIAPER BAG, WHILE ESCORTING A RAMBUNKCIOUS TWO-YEAR-OLD?
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