By: Lisa Thompson
Updated: August 20, 2015
Originally Published: January 20, 2015
I should have realized I was in over my head just by glancing at my to-do list. Eight errands to tackle in one morning with two energetic toddler boys? What was I thinking?
We zipped through the bank and fuel stop at Sam’s Club, likely because they were safely strapped into their car seats. However, just five minutes into waiting for the Geek Squad at Best Buy, I sensed that the morning was about to spiral out of control.
My boys, being the rambunctious toddlers they are, had other ideas—they wanted to run, climb, and press every button they could find. When I finally reached the front of the line, the technician informed me that our external hard drive, holding five years’ worth of family memories, was irreparable. I barely noticed the disapproving glares from an elderly couple as I pried my kids away from the DVD rack and headed back to the car.
One task down, seven to go.
As I pulled into the mall parking lot, it hit me: I had made a rookie mistake. With two toddlers, I should have brought the double stroller, not just the single. After narrowly avoiding a potty disaster by having my youngest pee into an empty sippy cup in the car, we ventured into Macy’s, making a quick detour through Victoria’s Secret. By the time we reached Bath & Body Works, I was in full-on “smell every soap” mode, completely oblivious to my toddler who was dispensing sweet pea foaming soap all over the tile floor.
I handed him a paper towel to clean it up. That’s good, right? He’s taking responsibility.
But then, chaos erupted. While waiting in line, my little one became bored and started snatching items from every box in the display. After repeating myself multiple times to put things back, I felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the store on me.
In frustration, I resorted to threats. “Listen, if you want to play at the playground, you need to behave!” But when I finally took his arm to guide him back to the stroller, he fought back, hit me, and slipped, banging his head on the tile floor. Cue the screaming.
I tried to soothe him while explaining that hitting was not okay and that he had to sit in the stroller for a timeout. Meanwhile, the volume of his screams echoed through the store as I tossed my soaps and coupons on the counter, avoiding eye contact with the cashier.
Five months pregnant, I hoisted my 19-month-old onto my hip and attempted to push the umbrella stroller while carrying my still-screaming three-year-old. Talk about a public humiliation.
I found a couch in the mall’s central walkway to regroup, knowing there was no way I could manage everything with one hand. My toddler was still wailing as I unbuckled him from the stroller and let him sit on the ground while I took a moment to breathe. I explained why he was in timeout again and asked if he could listen so we could reach the playground. We shared a hug, and I could feel the eyes of the old couple across from us drilling into my back.
When we finally reached the playground, I was just over it. I pretended not to see my three-year-old jumping off the slide. As I asked the boys to put their shoes back on, my older son sprinted toward a motorized toy helicopter—a ride I had repeatedly told him to avoid. Enough was enough. We were leaving.
Power-walking through Macy’s with a trail of cries behind me, I felt utterly defeated. The kids asked for their waters and to roll down the windows, but I was too mentally drained to respond. I was done—not angry, just exhausted and confused.
As I drove toward the produce market, I realized I had expected too much from my kids that day, and I was suffering for it. I wanted to go home, but I had to stop at the market for lettuce and red bell peppers. I figured I could just run in and keep an eye on them through the car windows.
After locking the car with both boys inside and rolling their windows down, I dashed into the store. Everything seemed fine; they looked happy and content. I was crushing this errand!
But as I approached the checkout line, my heart sank at the sight of a uniformed police officer peering into the car. I rushed outside, bracing myself for a lecture.
“Hi there,” she said, “Can you come out here for a minute?”
Great, just what I needed. I was furious as I finished paying for my groceries and wheeled my cart toward her.
“Are you going to ticket me?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Maybe. Can I see your license?” she replied.
As I pulled my wallet from the passenger seat, I wanted nothing more than to escape this moment. The silence was punctuated by my quiet grunts of frustration. I felt ashamed and like a failure.
“Do you have kids?” I finally blurted out.
“No,” she said.
Of course not. How could she understand my day? I hesitated, but she encouraged me to share. Looking into her earnest eyes, I realized she genuinely cared.
Then it all came pouring out—the worst day, the chaos, my anxiety. I mustered the words, “I’m doing the best I can,” amidst sobs.
In just a few minutes, I went from feeling like a competent mom to the one who left her kids in the car. I was the same mother I used to report on when I was a TV news journalist—the one I had judged harshly.
The officer explained how dangerous it was to leave the kids in the car, and I nodded, feeling the weight of my mistake. She handed me my ID and let me go with a warning, sensing my remorse.
As I drove home, tears streamed down my face. It’s been a few days since that incident, and I’m still haunted by it. I know what I did was wrong, but sometimes it truly feels impossible to win as a parent.
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Summary
The author recounts a chaotic day filled with toddler tantrums and the stress of running errands, leading to a moment of public embarrassment when a police officer intervenes after she leaves her children in the car. Despite feeling like a failure, she reflects on the overwhelming challenges of motherhood and the high expectations placed on parents today.