I’m certain you’ve been there: You’re in the grocery store, and you and your tribe are a walking time bomb, you’re running out of patience, and your little ones are trying to touch everything they can reach. It’s barely controlled chaos, and it feels like everyone is looking at you. Judging your parenting. Thinking what a wild, out-of-control bunch you’re raising.
There’s a wild banshee screamer strapped into the shopping cart seat. The cause of the screaming is more than likely the fact that the belt is buckled and your 18-month-old isn’t allowed to do gymnastics in her seat. {The horror!}
Next is the flip-flopping 4-year-old who is absolutely certain he wants to walk one minute, then in the next minute he is absolutely going to die if he can’t ride in the basket of the shopping cart. Which, as we all know, is not a sanctioned spot for children. {Not to mention, where are you supposed to put the groceries?}
Finally, you have a 6-year-old who is so abundantly helpful that when you finally make it {please, Lord} to the checkout, there are about a dozen extra items on the belt that you most certainly did not put there. And she is so independent and BIG that she tries to run off ahead of you. Or — groan — she is pushing a little cart. Which means that nothing is safe. Especially if it’s made of glass. MOST especially, if it’s a display of wine bottles.
Redemption!
But here is what makes it all worthwhile:
A woman, who doubtless has been where you are now and feels your pain, looks at you, and she sees. She gives you a knowing smile, and she says, “What well-behaved children. You’re doing a beautiful job.”
Take a deep breath, ladies, and let that wash over you.
You’re doing a beautiful job.
Never mind the fact that my children are right at the threshold of a meltdown of monumental proportions, and I’m not far behind. Disregard the fact that my smallest hasn’t worn shoes or socks in three days. Forget that my four-nager {because that is so a thing} is wearing his Batman pajama top because he refuses to take it off. And certainly, pay no attention to the fact that I haven’t showered in longer than I feel comfortable sharing and my hair is an oily disaster.
That woman didn’t see those things. She saw that my children weren’t running roughshod over everyone in the store, nothing was broken in our wake, and we were reasonably well self-contained.
And I was out of the house. Sometimes that is the bravest thing a mom can do.
Thank you.
So thank you, woman, in the grocery store who felt the need to reach out to me. You can’t possibly know — or maybe you can — how much that comment meant to me. You may even have felt silly about saying it. But please, the next time you see a mom of young people trying to juggle and being even moderately successful, stop and tell her.
Tell her that she is brave.
Tell her that she is doing a great job.
You may not know how very, very much she needs to hear it.
