Stark Raving Mad Mommy Gets Ready to Throw Down

I’ve been seeing a lot of public service messages recently reminding me not to leave my kids in the car because it’s so hot. I’d like to see some public service messages reminding people not to leave their kids in the car ever.  Because apparently that's breaking news to some parents.

Recently my friend Louie went to a family dinner at his mother’s house. When he got there, he saw his sister, Dina, but noticed that Dina’s baby wasn’t around.
“Where’s Baby Lindsay?” asked Louie.

“In the car, sleeping.”

The car was across the street. Louie couldn’t even see the car from any of the house windows. I’d also like to point out that this wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods. Not that it’s a good idea to leave a baby in a parked car anywhere, but this was seriously a place where cars are broken into all the time. On the other hand, a car burglar probably would have called the police on this woman.

Louie is an awesome dad to two beautiful little girls. He was horrified that his sister would leave her baby out in the car.

“We’ll, I’ll go get her and bring her in. Where are the keys to your car?”

“Oh,” replied Dina breezily. “It’s unlocked.”

Nice job, Dina. Why not just leave her on the curb with a sign that says “Free Baby”? When baby Lindsay grows up to become a drug-addicted criminal, the rest of us will know why. You won’t, though. You’ll be wondering what the heck happened. You’ll be the mom on the news saying, “she was such a sweet little girl, and we were always such a loving family. I don’t know how this could have happened to her.”

I've had a few incidents myself with parents leaving their little neglecterinos in the car.  One was dramatic because it involved someone I sort of knew and an audience of about thirty mothers of twins and triplets.
 
My club for mothers of multiples has a twice-annual sale of gently used children’s clothes. Early in the morning, members are allowed to shop first. They are not allowed to bring their children in, because it’s kind of a madhouse of moms going after bargains and we’re concerned that the wee ones will get trampled. Picture a going-out-of-business sale at Nordstrom Rack on Black Friday, and you sort of get the picture.
So we have this sale and you can’t bring your kids, and everyone knows it. You leave the kids home with Dad; it’s not rocket science. If Dad can’t watch them, you get someone else to do it. End of story. Or so you’d think.

On one chilly fall morning, a mom came to the sale, and left her three children (aged 1, 5, and 5) in the car while she shopped. Another club member, completely freaked out by the situation, came and told me, because I had just become president of the club. (Oh yes. I held quite the position of power. I could sign reimbursement requests and everything.)

I looked out the door and sure enough, I saw three little faces pressed against the window of a mini-van. I could even read the lips of the one hollering “Mommmmeeeee!” Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure that five-year-olds, even two of them put together, are not old enough to babysit a one-year-old. I’m definitely sure that five-year-olds, especially two of them, are exactly old enough to figure out how to open the van door and get run over in a parking lot, or take the parking brake off and run someone else over in the parking lot.

I ran into the sale room and found the mom.

“Uh, Britney, your kids are in your van outside screaming for you.”

She rolled her eyes. I’m not kidding. Let me say that again. She. Rolled. Her. Eyes.

She stomped out and stomped back in a few minutes later, and told me, “Apple said she had to go to the bathroom. She's such a drama queen.”

Nice. I bet if you had to go potty but were locked into a cold van by your hateful mother, you’d be dramatic, too.

“Well, you can’t leave them in the car. I’m sure someone who’s done shopping can watch them for a few minutes if you still have shopping to do.”

“No, they’re fine. They’re watching a movie.”

As a side note, I’m going to go out on a limb here and just say that if you can afford a minivan that’s tricked out with a DVD player, you can probably pay a babysitter ten bucks to watch your kids while you shop for $1 dresses at this freaking sale.

“Well, they’re not fine. And you can’t leave them in the car.”

Britney stared at me. And. Rolled. Her. Eyes.

Here’s the thing: I’ll be damned if I’m going to look the other way. I cannot handle the guilt of reading in the paper the next day that these kids were abducted, or choked to death on a Polly Pocket, or any of the other horrible things I worry about all the time. So I made a decision at this point that I didn’t care if I really pissed off this mom. I was ready to throw down.

“Seriously. You can’t leave them in the van unsupervised.”

“They’re fine,” she said again.

“No. They’re not. And I’m telling you, you can’t leave them there.”

It was a stare-down. I slowly pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, like something out of High Noon. I think she knew that I was ready to call the police. She stormed out and got in her van.

At this point, any normal mom would be so embarrassed that she would drive away, drop the club, and move to another state. At least, that’s what I would have to do. But this mom was some sort of shameless alien X-Files mom, because she managed to get her sister to come babysit the kids in the van.  She finished her shopping, avoiding the glaring eyes of a roomful of mothers.

On her way out, clutching her prize -- a bagful of "gently used" children's clothes -- she looked right at me and rolled her eyes.