A few days ago, I took my whole crew with me into Wal Mart. We were buying the last-minute school supplies we forgot the first time, when a young mom stopped me.
"Excuse me," she said, nodding at the monkeys children hanging off the side of my basket, "you look like you've done kindergarten before."
I told her I had, and how could I help her? She had a question about a couple of items on her list. I helped her the best I could, and we parted.
We made our way over to the pharmacy section, and a harried-looking Dad nearly lunged into my basket, so eager was he to ask me a question. He had a bottle of Pedialyte in one hand and a bottle of the generic stuff in the other. "Are these the same thing?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," I assured him. "I always buy generic on those."
He thanked me, and dashed off.
And I realized that I've become That Mom. The one who has traveled that parenting road so many times that it is etched into my very face. Someone who is, evidently, worthy of seeking out for advice. And I wonder, how on earth did that happen?
I feel so often like I'm completely holding on for dear life as I navigate this journey, making the occasional good decision by the very grace of God, not by any good sense on my own part. I'm keeping so many plates spinning, delicately balancing each one and hoping no one else notices my panic that one of them might fall.
I'll remember this, now, when I look at other moms who seem to have all the answers, and I'll remind myself their journey may feel just as tenuous as mine. I'll happily extend my pencil advice in the school-supply section, knowing full well that I'll pleading for answers from more experienced parents at any given moment.
We moms have to stick together.
