The Worst Mom Award

One of my favorite things to do with my children is go to the library. They love it because they get to play and get books and I love it because, after having taught all day, I can sit somewhere that is not my house where laundry, the dishes, the dirty kleenex on the floor next to the trashcan are not shouting to be straightened. It is a calm, quiet atmosphere and we go at least once a week.
Last week, they had these cars:

I tried to get a picture of the two of them playing together, because they truly were playing together. But as you can see, Lucy has her sights set on another toy. She immediately went for the toy and another little girl took up residence on her yellow car.

Lucy was having none of that.

She went SCREAMING back to the car saying, "Mine! Mine!" so loud you could hear her in the parking lot. I immediately intervened, taking her back to a chair and telling her she needed to sit with me for a while.

She was having none of that, either.

She began to THROW A FIT. Screaming so loud my teeth were rattling in my jaw. Kicking so hard her shoes were flying off her feet. Making such a ruckus that people were stopping and staring - like, stopping in the middle of the aisles and watching me try to unsuccessfully calm my daughter down. Really, all I wanted was to get her to stop screaming. Never mind the disobedience, never mind the disrespect, never mind the defiance JUST STOP SCREAMING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING LIBRARY.

Nope. She was having none of that.

It took me all of ten seconds of this to decide we couldn't do this - we were leaving. I grabbed my flailing daughter, groped about for her shoes, and said, "Charlie, we are leaving. Let's go."

You know that scene in one of the Shrek's where the cat makes his eyes go all big and sad? That's what my son did. "But Mommy, I don't have my library books yet." I wanted to shout "CAN'T YOU SEE THAT YOUR SISTER IS HAVING A MELTDOWN? WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR BOOKS!" But instead, I hauled myself and Lucy to my feet (bless the little random girl who found Lucy's shoes for me) and frantically said, "Go FAST! Find your books and meet me at the checkout in less than one minute!"

But one minute was too long. Because rather than calming down, Lucy was just getting started. Her face was red, tears were cascading down her cheeks, and she was wailing like a fire engine. I tried to sit her upright in my arms but she fell sideways, reaching for the floor and shrieking. I wrestled her shoes on to her feet and tried once again to calm her down. By now, the ENTIRE LIBRARY has stopped and is staring at me. I tell Charlie to hurry while I try to find the library card in the labyrinth of my purse. Lucy has once again kicked her shoes off and the little girl has once again found them and returned them to me. I find the library card, thank the girl, and call for Charlie again. He appears with an armful of books. Hands down the fastest he's ever been at picking. But rather than praising him, thanking him, saying, "My dear, dear son, THANK YOU for picking your books so quickly and without one word of complaint," I say, "Hurry up and get them checked out" because Lucy has hit some all-time high of toddler-dom - an award-winning level of fit-throwing that I hadn't known existed. I had to HOLD HER SIDEWAYS to keep her from falling out of my arms. Forget the shoes. They were going in my purse if the little girl could find them again. If not, they were the library's. Maybe they could find a little girl whose feet they fit because WE SURE AS HECK AREN'T COMING BACK TO THE LIBRARY EVER AGAIN.

Meanwhile, my son is trying desperately to check out his books. But he can't, because he's not good enough at the screen to put my code in by himself, even though he chants it to himself and does his best to hit the right buttons. I take over for him, but I can't see the screen through my tears. I am absolutely and utterly humiliated. I can hear the librarian calling to me from the desk but I don't turn around. I shove Charlie's books in the machine, yank my card out, tell him to grab his books, and take off out of the children's wing.

The hallway was empty (thank God), but the echoing acoustics magnified the shrieks and howls coming from the 2-year-old. Charlie is doing his best to carry his armload of books, but he drops them all every fourth step or so. And it doesn't help that his pants are too big in the waist (story of that boy's life, let me tell you) and he has to keep hiking them up. I cannot take the books for him because I'm still trapped in a weird vertical wrestling match with Lucy. As we walked out into the atrium, which of course was busy with people, I did my best to keep my head down and hurry through. Charlie kept dropping his books despite my constant hisses of "Come on!" and "Hurry up!"

It takes us FOR.EHH.VUR. to get to the car. I open her door and Charlie follows. I try to cram Lucy into her seat but she is doing that back arch thing so I can't get her in the car seat. I'm telling you, this girl is pulling out the stops. Charlie's whining about something. I think he's dropped his books on the ground again. I tell him to pick them back up and let me finish with Lucy.

Ohhhhh, Lucy.

I finally strap her in. I get in her face and tell her how upset I am. How terrible she's been acting. How this makes me never want to take her out in public again. Charlie pulls on my coat but ignore him. I say to Lucy, "Do you have ANY IDEA how embarrassing that was girl? You are in SOOOOOO much trouble!"

"MOMMY!" Charlie yells.

I finally look down. My boy is near tears, his library books are clutched awkwardly in his arms and HIS PANTS ARE DOWN AROUND HIS ANKLES.

"CHARLIE!" I yell, "What happened to your pants?"

"They fell!" He says frantically as I pull them up.

"Why didn't you just pull them up?

"Because you said I had to hold my library books!" he wails.

FAIL.

FAIL.

FAIL.

Worst Mom Award. Go ahead and lay it on me.

But give my son the Best Son Award. Both his mother and sister JUST LOST THEIR MINDS in the library. He got his books quickly. He did his best to get them checked out. He got himself to the car even though he dropped his books repeatedly and had to keep picking them back up. He obeyed and held his books even when his pants fell down around his ankles in the middle of the library parking lot. And when, after I finally get everyone safely into the car and started to drive away, I apologize to him, he says, "It's okay Mommy. And do you know what?"

"What, Charlie?"

"I will never ever ever stop loving you."

 Wow.

Does he get it? Does he know about forgiveness, really? Is a four-year-old child capable of understanding what it means to never ever ever stop loving someone? I don't know. But I do know that his Daddy models this every time he gets in trouble. When it's all over, he takes Charlie in his arms, makes him look in his eyes and says, "I will never ever ever stop loving you" and things go right back to normal. Just like nothing ever happened.

It was easier to forgive Lucy after that.