The Strangest Thing
The other day I was innocently walking my kids home from the park, minding my own business, when a police officer pulled up alongside my stroller and rolled down his passenger window.
“Do you need any help, Ma’am?” he inquired.
“No...uh, I’m fine thank you,” I replied, but not before looking over my shoulder to make sure it was indeed me to whom the officer was talking.
He gave me a strange look (as if to say, “Are you sure?”), wished me a good day, rolled up his window and pulled back onto the street; continuing on his patrol and glancing once or twice in his rear view mirror. Meanwhile I was left standing on the sidewalk, scratching my head...wondering why on earth he felt compelled to offer me his assistance.
Did I really look that incompetent?
I mean, sure I was likely mumbling to myself or perhaps singing the theme song to Dora...but what mother of young children isn’t?
Come to think of it, I guess I could have had tears in my eyes...I remember that my daughter was begging me for more snacks (which I had already assured her 387 times that I DID NOT HAVE) and my son was in the middle of a full-out meltdown over not being home in time for his nap. I'm quite certain at that point in time I really just wanted to be home with my feet up, rather than slugging along, pushing the double stroller up hill with sweat plastering my hair to the sides of my face.
Now that I really think about it...I was probably gesturing wildly to the heavens as I cursed the day I was born and asked myself what possessed me to think I could actually handle one child – LET ALONE TWO! And the mumbling may have been more akin to a gut-wrenching wail; the kind born out of a lack of sleep and little sustenance other than the leftovers of a toddler’s pb&j and whatever goldfish crumbs are found amongst one’s pocket lint.
Yes, I remember it now. There were definitely tears in my eyes...maybe even running down my cheeks. There may have also been some gasping and shuddering going on. And I think the flailing, wailing and Dora theme song were happening somewhat simultaneously...creating a kind of Spanish infused "war dance slash mourning ritual."
All in all, it was a pretty typical trip to the park for a mother of two toddlers. I’ll probably never know exactly why the policeman felt the need to offer me some help.
Slow day in the suburbs, I guess.
“Do you need any help, Ma’am?” he inquired.
“No...uh, I’m fine thank you,” I replied, but not before looking over my shoulder to make sure it was indeed me to whom the officer was talking.
He gave me a strange look (as if to say, “Are you sure?”), wished me a good day, rolled up his window and pulled back onto the street; continuing on his patrol and glancing once or twice in his rear view mirror. Meanwhile I was left standing on the sidewalk, scratching my head...wondering why on earth he felt compelled to offer me his assistance.
Did I really look that incompetent?
I mean, sure I was likely mumbling to myself or perhaps singing the theme song to Dora...but what mother of young children isn’t?
Come to think of it, I guess I could have had tears in my eyes...I remember that my daughter was begging me for more snacks (which I had already assured her 387 times that I DID NOT HAVE) and my son was in the middle of a full-out meltdown over not being home in time for his nap. I'm quite certain at that point in time I really just wanted to be home with my feet up, rather than slugging along, pushing the double stroller up hill with sweat plastering my hair to the sides of my face.
Now that I really think about it...I was probably gesturing wildly to the heavens as I cursed the day I was born and asked myself what possessed me to think I could actually handle one child – LET ALONE TWO! And the mumbling may have been more akin to a gut-wrenching wail; the kind born out of a lack of sleep and little sustenance other than the leftovers of a toddler’s pb&j and whatever goldfish crumbs are found amongst one’s pocket lint.
Yes, I remember it now. There were definitely tears in my eyes...maybe even running down my cheeks. There may have also been some gasping and shuddering going on. And I think the flailing, wailing and Dora theme song were happening somewhat simultaneously...creating a kind of Spanish infused "war dance slash mourning ritual."
All in all, it was a pretty typical trip to the park for a mother of two toddlers. I’ll probably never know exactly why the policeman felt the need to offer me some help.
Slow day in the suburbs, I guess.
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