There was a mother out with her family, including a number of children. Her young son was a few feet away, attempting to make a mitten-ensconced prison break. She was ordering him back, in typical mom voice fashion. A hint of desperation in her pleads.
“Get back here. Don’t you run away from me. Do you want to get lost?”
He halted a few steps later. She grabbed him by the hood on his coat and directed him back in line. Just one of many battles fought in a day.
I watched this and couldn’t help thinking to myself, wow, she has her hands full. I’m glad that isn’t me.
Because really, look at my precious children. They’re like angels!
Not long after, I was alone with all the kids as J trotted off to the car for a minute. During this time, I had Abby on my hip while holding as tightly as I could on to Buzz’s small hand. If you give that boy an inch, he’ll run for the hills. Suffice it to say, he twisted himself until he was free and off he went. Before I knew it, I was barking commands in that ubiquitous mom voice. Enveloped in desperation.
“Buzz, no. Get back here, Buzz. Buzz, I said no.”
Then my cherubic child turned, laughed, and kept right on going.
In that moment, I couldn’t help looking around, wondering how many people were watching us with a sense of relief. Saying to themselves, wow, she has her hands full. I’m glad that isn’t me.