I should have anticipated the chaos just by glancing at my to-do list. Eight errands. One morning. Two energetic little boys.
We zipped through the bank deposit and filled up the gas tank at Sam’s Club, likely because I could keep both kids securely in their car seats. But five minutes into our wait at the Geek Squad in Best Buy, I knew we were in for a rough ride. The boys were just being their rambunctious selves—running, climbing, and touching everything in sight.
By the time I reached the counter, the technician informed me that our external hard drive, holding five years of family memories, was beyond repair. All those treasured photos… I barely noticed the disapproving glares from an elderly couple as I wrestled my toddlers away from the DVD rack and headed back to the car.
Next on the list: the mall. That’s when it hit me—I had made a rookie mistake as a mom of two toddlers: I only had the single stroller with me.
After avoiding a potty disaster by having my youngest use an empty sippy cup in the car, we entered Macy’s, making a hasty detour through Victoria’s Secret. Minutes later, at Bath & Body Works, I was determined to sniff every soap available thanks to my pregnancy nose, completely oblivious to my toddler dispensing sweet pea foaming soap all over the floor. I handed him a paper towel, convinced we were handling this well.
That’s when everything unraveled.
As we waited in line, he grew restless, snatching items from the display. Despite my repeated requests for him to put things back, I felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. I resorted to threats, telling him about the playground we could visit if he behaved, and the Lunchable waiting in the car. When it became clear he wasn’t listening, I grasped his arm to guide him back to the stroller. He fought back, hitting me and launching himself, only to slip and hit his head on the tile floor. Cue the meltdown.
I tried to soothe him while explaining that hitting was wrong but that he needed to sit in the stroller. His cries echoed through the store as I tossed my soaps and coupons onto the counter without making eye contact with the cashier. At five months pregnant, I hoisted my 19-month-old onto my hip and pushed the stroller with my still-screaming three-year-old out of the store. It was a moment of utter humiliation.
Finding a couch in the mall’s central walkway, I knew we needed a breather. I couldn’t juggle both kids and the stroller any longer. Tears streamed down my toddler’s face as I unbuckled him and allowed him to sit on the ground while I collected myself. I reassured him, reminding him why he was in timeout and that I loved him. We hugged, and I could feel the judgment of the old couple across from us.
At the mall playground, I was at my wit’s end. I ignored my three-year-old’s reckless jumping off the slide. As I asked them to put their shoes back on, my eldest bolted towards a motorized toy helicopter—something I’d repeatedly told him to avoid. That was it. We were leaving.
I hurried through Macy’s, my heart pounding, while my toddler’s cries trailed behind us. I was spent. Not angry, just utterly defeated and confused.
I had pushed my kids too hard that day, and now it was my turn to face the consequences. All I wanted was to go home, but I still had to stop at the produce market. I really wanted to check that off my list, especially since I wouldn’t be back for a week. “I can just run in and keep an eye on them,” I thought, parking right in front of the store with a clear view through the windows.
I locked the car, rolled down their windows, and handed them each a Lunchable. It was 72 degrees, and they seemed content. I dashed through the store, grabbing lettuce and red bell peppers, and would frequently peek out to check on them. Everything appeared fine, and I was getting my errand done faster than I could have imagined.
As I approached the checkout, my heart sank at the sight of a uniformed police officer peering into the car. Panic set in.
“Hi,” I said, trying to mask my annoyance. “What’s going on?”
“Can you step outside for a moment?” she requested.
Oh great, just what I needed after the day I’d had. Furious, I paid for my groceries and trudged over to her, bracing myself for a scolding.
“Are you going to ticket me?” I asked, my voice dripping with disdain.
“Maybe. Can I see your license?”
I handed it over, all the while shoving produce into my cart, wanting nothing more than to escape this interaction.
“So, what happened?” she inquired.
I was overwhelmed with feelings of shame and failure. I didn’t want to explain my chaotic day, but I could feel the tears welling up.
“Do you have kids?” I asked, hoping for some semblance of understanding.
“No,” she replied.
Of course, she wouldn’t understand. But she encouraged me to share. I opened my mouth, and the floodgates opened. “I’ve had the worst day,” I stammered through sobs. “The boys were everywhere, and I was just trying to run in…”
In that moment, I realized I could sum it all up in one sentence: I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN.
As I paused, I felt the weight of my shame. I was the mom who had left her kids in the car, the same mom I had once reported on as a TV news reporter—the one I labeled as lazy and irresponsible.
The officer explained the dangers of leaving kids unattended, especially in a neighborhood like this. She handed me my ID and let me go with just a warning, likely sensing I had learned my lesson.
I drove away, tears streaming down my face, feeling the sting of humiliation and defeat. Days later, I’m still processing the trauma of that day. While I know what I did was wrong, there are times when it feels as though I simply can’t catch a break.
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Summary
Parenting can be a daunting task, especially on chaotic days filled with errands and toddlers. This story highlights a challenging moment in a mother’s life, showcasing the struggles, emotions, and lessons learned during a particularly overwhelming day. It serves as a reminder that every parent has their off days and that it’s essential to be gentle with ourselves as we navigate the ups and downs of raising kids.
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