The other day, while fastening my seatbelt in the supermarket parking lot, I spotted a family in the car parked in front of me. They had just a couple of bags, and as they approached, the mom effortlessly pressed the button to unlock the car and slid the door open. She hopped into the driver’s seat, and her two pre-teen kids hopped in right after her. With the door still closing, she turned the ignition and backed out of the space. Within moments, she was off to her next stop.
I paused and just stared, utterly amazed. I found myself fixating on the empty space long after she drove away. “She just got in the car,” I thought. “No fuss whatsoever. No door wrestling.”
You see, I have four little ones under the age of six. For me, getting into the car is a dramatic saga—one full of chaos and planning akin to a well-rehearsed magic show. Watching that mother felt like she was flaunting her effortless parenting skills right in front of me—though I know she probably wasn’t.
She didn’t have to wrangle a screaming child into a car seat or secure four five-point harnesses, only to discover two of them had unbuckled themselves. There were no tears—oh, wait, I sometimes cry too. No frantic dodging of traffic to return the shopping cart, no smushed groceries crammed into the car, and no sun visor that looked like it survived a battle with wild animals.
As I continued to stare at her empty parking spot—seriously, I probably stared for way too long—I realized that her journey to the car at home was probably just as simple. She likely said, “We’re going to the store,” and poof! The kids magically appeared, buckled in and ready to go, without any last-minute diaper changes required.
Maybe she casually decided, “I think I’ll drive somewhere,” without needing to prepare bottles, check for extra underwear, or locate that elusive bag of animal crackers. She didn’t have a small child army-crawling under the car or a toddler rummaging through the trash. No bags to load into the vehicle, no toys or trash to clear out, and she certainly didn’t sit down only to realize she forgot her keys. And her hair? It probably wasn’t plastered to her sweat-slick forehead.
I doubt she’s ever said, “Just forget it!” and unloaded everything while still in the garage because it just wasn’t worth it to head out. It’s been a while since she pulled up somewhere only to find children asleep and decided to keep driving home instead of stopping.
My Errand Nightmares
As I reflected on her effortless experience, I couldn’t help but think of the daily nightmares I face while running errands with my kids, including:
- Navigating a cart full of miniature kleptomaniacs who hoard candy, snacks, and anything shiny they can find.
- Sweating in a public restroom stall, trying to hold one child above the seat while refereeing a wild game of toilet-water wars among the others.
- Ignoring the pitying looks from strangers as my kid throws a full-body tantrum in the shopping cart because we just passed the toy aisle.
- Did I mention taking four boys into a public restroom? Because, seriously, it’s a circus act.
I can only assume that this seemingly carefree mom has faced her share of chaos and emerged victorious at some point. I hold onto the hope that one day, I too will be that relaxed driver. Yet, it felt a bit like she was teasing me—her decision to have a manageable number of kids with adequate spacing somehow made her parenting seem superior. I can only dream that one day, while managing my little crew or when they’re showering me with gifts, I’ll look back on these chaotic times with a smile. Because I LOVE my kids—despite the fact that getting them into the car is a horror second only to the terror of bath time.
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Summary
This article humorously reflects on the challenges of running errands with young children, contrasting the author’s chaotic experiences with a seemingly effortless encounter witnessed in a parking lot. It highlights the struggles of parenting while maintaining a loving outlook on family life.