Mom Solidarity

Today, my childcare plans fell through. Doing my best to accomplish my to-do list for some upcoming classes I'm teaching at my studio; I opted to take my toddler with me and do my best on errands. 

With cotton ball snow flakes wafting down onto our faces as we walked through the parking lot to Hobby Lobby, my son began to sing "jingle bells, jingle bells... all the way... hey!" the words he knows. 

I meandered through the isles looking for the list of items;my son, was star-struck by the colors, toys, crafts, and decor and keeping him in the cart became increasingly difficult while I plucked an item here and there from the shelves like fruit from a tree.

He was squirmy and impatient and whining. We finally agreed that he could ride on the front of the cart. Feet on the bar, hands holding onto the metal basket. The exact picture of how not to let your child ride on the cart was on the warning seat plastic. 

In a brief moment, as I reaching for some party favors, he darted away like a rocket towards the front of the store. I three point reversed the cart and started after him. When he ran out of my view, I let go of any store manners propriety and yelled his name- hoping he would turn back to me. 

I literally had my purse in my cart and left it there as I began a jog to catch up and find him. Reaching the front of the store, where cashiers were beeping along- I still couldn't see him. 

The open and close sliding doors swished back and forth with people coming and going and my heart flipped with panic realizing he could have run out into traffic. A store worker stood next to me stocking shelves. 

"Excuse me," I asked trying to keep my voice level "my toddler ran off and I can't find him. Can you please help?" She straightened immediately and began leading me to a nearby register. "What is he wearing?" she asked. Camo pants and a hoodie. 

"We have a code Adam. Toddler in camo pants and blue shirt." sounded out over the intercom.

Suddenly, every worker stopped what they were doing and began looking around. One older woman in a cobalt Hobby Lobby vest went to barricade the sliding doors. 

Ten seconds passed. Twenty...

Thirty seconds. 

"I have him!" a woman called out from the side of the store. There he was, being led by the hand of a kind looking middle aged woman carrying a large armful of silk flowers in her other hand. 

My son saw me and grinned big, running into my arms. Completely unaware of the terror he had just unleashed. Another intercom call canceled the code Adam. Tears welled in my eyes of relief- totally lost on him. I breathed and worked to calm my nerves. 

This time, no negotiations; he was perched and buckled into the cart seat (with resistance) and I waited in line to check out. As I loaded my purchases onto the counter he was able to reach, grab, and open a Nutella snack pack. Chocolate smeared over his hand as he dipped in his full fist and began licking the creamy mess off his fingers; slathering his face in the process. 

"I'll buy that too." I sighed resolutely. The sweet young cashier with bug eye seeing glasses nodded and rang in a packet that hadn't been drooled on. 

After we paid and began my way out to the parking lot, my son spotted a candy bottle shaped sucker. "Bottle please?" he asked with doe eyes behind hazelnut chocolatey eyelashes. 

"No." I answered curtly. Ready to leave. 

He began to cry. 

Tears and snot dripped over his frosted face, his crying escalating into screaming as I passed through the sliding doors and into the parking lot. 

What I hadn't noticed until then; was a woman ahead of me, fifty feet away, with a blond haired boy, similar age- throwing a similar tantrum to mine. In her over-full cart there was a baby carrier with an infant that could only be a few months old. She was in sweats, no make-up, slippers. Her son's snot now smeared onto her shoulder- my shoulder was in the same predicament. 

She reached her maroon mini van before I reached my SUV and as I passed her, she looked over to me and said "Three years old?" I acknowledged her "Yes, almost." We gave each other a knowing glance as I reached my vehicle and began to wrestle my toddler into his carseat while she was busy wrestling hers just a few spaces away.

I unloaded my purchases and after locking the car doors, went to return the shopping cart to the cart caddy. As I did, I grabbed her empty cart with mine, noticing her buckling in her infant.

On my return, she glanced over at me closing the minivan door. "Thanks." She smiled. I smiled back. Then she raised her fist into the air above her head like a warrior does and said "Mom solidarity." 

I bowed my head and raised my fist back. 

By the time I got into my car, my son's tantrum had ended and he was singing "Old McDonald had a farm. EEEEE IIIIII EEEEEE IIIII OOOOOO...."

Another day. Another shopping trip. 

Another mom who gets another mom. 

Mom Solidarity.

To read a book written by mothers (including me) who are sharing stories that are often not shared, the real experience of motherhood; click here: 

Unspoken Motherhood