Never Argue With a Stroller
Right before our fourth child was born, we had a 3-year-old, a 2 year-old and a 1 1/2 year-old. I was busy.
No, busy isn’t really the word. I was buried up to my eyeballs in diapers and baby food.
My days began bright and early, mostly because our 2-year-old, Joshua, seemed to be on the same schedule as the birds and roosters. We didn’t even live out in the country, but he didn’t care.
We were renting a 3-bedroom duplex at the time, with two bedrooms upstairs and the master bed and bath downstairs. There was a small living room and an even smaller kitchen, and a tiny fenced-in backyard outside the kitchen. On the other side of the fence, the ground immediately sloped upward to form a steep hill, making it an impossible place for the kids to safely run and play.
When wintertime came, we quickly developed an acute case of cabin fever. If we ventured out in the cold and snow to get some exercise and fresh air, it only lasted a few minutes before we were cold, bored and cramped in the puny little square space not much larger than an oversized sandbox. Back inside, we played games and watched videos, and the kids had toys in their rooms to play with, which all kept them entertained most of the time, but day in and day out of the same routine began to ware on me.
Then, it happened. A miracle. A miracle called MOPS.
No, not the magically absorbent pieces of cloth on the end of a stick used to clean up spilled juice… something much, much better. A group of mothers who got together on a weekly basis at a local church to enjoy a full breakfast and talk about everything from potty training to Seinfeld reruns, while their preschoolers and babies played peacefully in the next room under the watchful care of a few angels masquerading as women.
When a friend invited me to the MOPS group for the first time, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I loved staying home with my children, and being a mother was and is still the most fulfilling and rewarding role I’ve ever had in life, but those 2 hours every Tuesday morning spent in conversation with other humans whose vocabulary involved more than a few syllables–well, they were an absolute lifesaver for me and my kids! While many of the other moms I knew at the time had their mother, sister, or even mother-in-law to gladly come over and help with the kids or better yet, open their homes to them, I did not.
My mother was four states away in Florida and still reeling over my newfound faith in Jesus. (Oy!) I didn’t have a sister (something I lamented over from time to time while growing up) and my cousin, the closest supportive relative lived 1200 miles away, making her not exactly “close”. And… my mother-in-law unfortunately subscribed to the belief that ‘children should be seen, not heard’, a perspective she continuously reminded us of by showing up once every few months with my father-in-law (who would have gladly spent his retirement as a resident grandpa) to eat a meal, snap a few pictures, and announce, “OK, Richard, it’s time for me to go now.”
So, the first time I walked into a MOPS gathering, (now called The MOMCo), and saw the gorgeous spread of brunch food, beautifully decorated dining tables, and other women chattering happily without a toddler attached to their leg, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and whispered a couple of “Hallelujahs!”
Every week, there was a different speaker or activity designed to encourage, empower and enrich each mother’s parenting journey, and every week, the kids looked forward to playing with their friends and venturing outside the same four walls of our home. It was a win-win.
The MOPS leadership brought in exceptional speakers and small business owners to share their services with our group of moms. My fellow moms and I took turns bringing breakfast once a month for everyone and then sat back and enjoyed everything from spa treatments, massages and fun giveaways to advice and much-needed humor from child-development experts and guest speakers.
I soaked up all 120 minutes of those terrific Tuesdays with twenty-nine other women who gathered there to share teary-eyed tales of sleepless nights and seemingly never-ending runny noses. An amazing thing happened there every week. From the first connective moments at the coffee and brunch table to the final few minutes of prayer before leaving, I could feel my mood elevating, my body relaxing, and most importantly the smell of diapers dissipating…I was reborn!
One particular Tuesday, when it came time to pick up the kids from their childcare rooms and go home, I felt a new surge of confidence and positivity infusing my motherhood…my voice even sounded different! The time with other moms gave me just the right dose of encouragement I needed. When I buckled the baby’s car seat into the van and my three-year-old poked the two-year-old, I was a picture of patience. “Now, let’s keep our hands to ourselves, Okaaayyy?” I crooned in an oh-so-relaxed tone.
When I opened the back of the van to load my trusty double-stroller inside, I mentally went through the list of things I loved about being a mother… Ahh, the ability to shape and mold young hearts and minds…the sticky kisses and bedtime snuggles…getting to watch them discover the beauty and wonder of the world around them…and best of all, the way motherhood was growing me as a person.
I whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving as I tapped my foot on the release button of the stroller, ready for the automatic fold-up operation. Nothing happened. That’s weird, I thought.
My normally quick and easily collapsible Graco baby stroller, bought on sale at Target for $159 when our second child was on the way, was suddenly stuck. Completely frozen.
I tapped the lever again with my foot. Still nothing. Why isn’t it working? I said to myself.
Then, the baby started to fuss…and the three-year-old said she had to go to the bathroom.
“Just a second, honey,” I said.
I turned the stroller on its side and examined it more closely. The lever, which I had hit hundreds of times before, was undamaged but for some unknown reason, still wasn’t moving. I needed to load the stroller in the van, and fast! (Three year-olds who need to go the bathroom absolutely can’t wait!)
Without the seats down and the kids in the car, there was no way to fit the upright stroller into the van even if I tried. I looked around the parking lot to see if there happened to be any other adults available to help, but the last few minivans were turning out onto the busy highway.
Ok, I know this thing works, I thought, hitting the lever again, still to no avail.
“Mommmmmyyyy…,” my sweet daughter’s voice called again, turned up a notch.
“I’m coming, honey,” I said, starting to really panic. I looked around one more time. The parking lot was deserted and the surroundings showed no signs of life anywhere. It was just me and this inflexible piece of equipment that up until now, had been under my complete control but was stubbornly interfering with an important mission–to get everyone and everything home before a real meltdown occurred.
“Come on,” I said, tapping the lever with my foot again. “Fold Down.” Still Nothing.
This super-sophisticated, modern, easy-glide stroller designed to make my motherly missions easier-the one that was completely infallible up to that point, seemed to have morphed from a helpful piece of hardware into a being with a will of its own. It was digging in its wheels and refusing to budge.
I felt like Dave in 2001: A Space Odyssey when HAL, a man-made computer, turns on him in the middle of the mission. Cue the eerie music.
“Open the pod bay doors, HAL,” Dave says in the legendary scene of the movie.
“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” HAL responds in a monotone voice.
I tapped on the stroller lever with more force this time. “Come on,” I said. “Fold down.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” it seemed to say with its motionless response.
“Oh, yes… yes you can!”, I said, hitting the lever harder with my foot. “I know you can do that!”
“This conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye…”
“Mommmmmyyyyyy!,” my three year-old called again…”I really have to go!”
“I’m coming, sweetheart!” I said, sighing heavily.
“Look, HAL, I don’t have time to argue with you anymore!” I ranted at the silent stroller. “That’s it. I’m leaving you here!”
And with that, I got into the van, buckled my seat belt and began backing out of the parking space.
As I turned the van to go out onto the main road, I caught one last glance of the abandoned stroller that had gone with me on every outing to nearby parks, malls, and restaurants…the one that had faithfully carried my babies and all our necessary gear around the city.
For a brief moment, I felt a tinge of regret and sorrow over its fate. But then, I remembered it was just a piece of over-priced plastic and I began counting down the minutes until the next Tuesday MOPS meeting.
