Updated: August 12, 2015
Originally Published: June 27, 2015
Navigating the parking lot with children can often feel like a circus act. My little ones cling precariously to the shopping cart’s front, threatening to topple as they reach for the hidden box of fruit snacks buried beneath fresh produce. Meanwhile, the more determined ones are on a mission to unearth their sugary treasure, blissfully unaware they’re only squashing the chips in the process.
Every trip across the parking lot brings a moment of near chaos, especially when I have to dodge a tiny, unaware elder reversing out of her space. As I attempt to cross back to my car, a fellow mom in a minivan follows closely behind, moving at a snail’s pace. If only she would let me cross, she could have my coveted parking spot next to the cart return.
That particular spot is my sanctuary. It allows me to wrestle groceries and kids into the car without leaving them unattended while I make a mad dash across a sea of vehicles. I harbor an irrational fear of abduction, imagining that as I jog my empty cart back to the corral, clown-masked figures will emerge. It’s reminiscent of that fifth-grade nightmare when my class watched “Poltergeist” during “bonus fun time,” leading to a lifelong aversion to clowns and a fear of spongy red noses.
Choosing that parking spot and avoiding clown-related phobias is my strategy for keeping my children off milk cartons. However, there are those rare occasions when I manage a solo trip to the store—an experience that transforms the mundane task of shopping into a liberating venture.
When I shop alone, there are no children breaking free to dart between slow-moving SUVs. There are no arguments over who gets to push the cart back. Little feet remain safe from being rolled over as I unload groceries. Best of all, I don’t need a car cart.
In these moments, I undergo a metamorphosis. As the car door closes behind me, I realign my posture, allowing my less-than-perfect figure to regain a semblance of dignity. My shoulders pull back, and I stride with purpose, no longer resembling a penguin navigating the lot while one child weaves between my legs.
In the parking lot, I reclaim my identity. I carry just my purse, not a jumble of toddler-themed bags that were tossed to me moments after stepping out of the car. My shirt remains in place, free from the tugging of tiny hands, and my sunglasses rest perfectly atop my nose, rather than dangling from one ear due to a tussle with the kids.
When I am the sole shopper, my pants fit without sagging, and my lip gloss doesn’t ensnare stray hairs that I can’t dislodge for fear of losing my grip on my children. I savor my latte, untainted by spilled milk or requests for cake pops from the drive-thru.
I am not just “Mom” anymore; I am “Ma’am,” who, despite the My Little Pony sticker stuck to my rear, enjoys the simple pleasure of being an independent adult. This is the essence of a solo shopping trip—a momentary escape where I embrace the woman I am.
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In summary, navigating parenting while juggling errands can prove to be a chaotic yet rewarding experience. Embracing those moments of solitude, even amidst the madness, provides a refreshing sense of self.
Keyphrase: parking lot parenting
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