Shout OUT to the Frazzled Mom by Jennifer Helfrich

"You know more than you think you do" - Benjamin Spock

I saw you, although I know there was no way you saw me. You, the one with the gray minivan that I parked next to, with your local soccer club decal on the back hitch. I saw you within 10 seconds of entering the store. I was at the CVS to pick up some Claritin in the middle of my workday.

I actually heard you before I saw you. Which is to say, I heard your kids before I saw you. One of them crying and screaming as you emerged from the Diapers/Baby Supplies/Incontinence aisle, the other one pouting, being nudged along by the shopping cart.

We crossed paths, and I tried to meet your eyes as that little girl was whining and pulling on your clothing, tears streaming down her cheeks, but you kept your eyes forward.

I could hear her screaming the entire time you were on the opposite end of the building, as I was waiting and working to assure CVS, in writing, that I was not going to use the 30 doses of Claritin to start my illegal crystal meth factory.

As I wandered toward the front of the store and remembered I needed to pick up cough drops and checked out the seasonal aisle, I wondered why your little girl was screaming so? Thinking back on my own experiences with screaming children in public places, I could only imagine it was something as simple as the girl wanting the Dora pullups instead of the princess ones, and you said “no”.

By the time I made my way up to the counter, you had just departed. And I thought you should know what was said about you by those left in the store. The customer in front of me gave you high marks for letting your kid throw herself on the floor and scream while you calmly made your purchase and then simply picked her up and carried her, still screaming, out of the store. We all decided you were an example of grace under pressure. You didn't cave to your child's wishes or behavior because you were there for a purpose, and the kid fit would not stop you from the things you needed to do.

I saw you, when I exited the store, sitting in your minivan. I saw you run your hands through your hair, and send a text to someone (I’m thinking it was something about how lucky your kids are that you love them, otherwise they'd be left on the side of the road). And then I saw you take a deep breath, compose yourself and drive out of the parking lot.

What I should have done, and what I wanted to do, was knock on your window. I wanted to tell you that all Moms of two-year olds have experienced the public tantrum. I wanted to commend you for your composure.

I will make more of an effort the next time, because while I could see the look of determination on your face,  I also sensed the desperation behind it. And you should know that all of us left in your wake empathized with your frustration and admired how you handled your kids and yourself.  Most of all, you frazzled Mom…I wanted to grab your hand and tell you it’s temporary, it’s okay, you will all make it through, and, as a Mom, I’m here for you.

And from the brief moments I saw, I could tell, you Runit like a champ.

This post was originally published on http://runitlikeamom.com.