Poor Parenting on Parade

This past weekend was our town's holiday ("it's-not-PC-to-say-Christmas") parade. And let me tell you, there's nothing like a parade to make me feel like the worst. Parent. EVER.

Fail #1 was the kids' attire. The sun was shining. It was supposed to be in the low 60s. Nice day, right? I even stepped outside myself to gauge the temperature before I dressed the boys - and granted, I'd been hurrying around and was kinda warm, but the weather felt really nice. So I put them in T-shirts with long-sleeved shirts over them.

But then we got downtown (where we parked, like, eighteen miles away from our actual destination - and realized Fail #2: we forgot the stroller). People were flocking to find a seat. People in parkas. And coats. And scarves. And gloves. And hats. And here we were, with our poor unprotected-from-the-elements children. I could almost hear the disapproving tsk sounds the other mothers were surely making. I found a thin jean jacket in our Jeep for Cameron, but it was nothing compared to the puffy winter-weight coats everyone else's kids seemed to be wearing.

So, stroller-less and coat-less, we made the trek to the parade route to find a seat. Cameron weighs like 31 pounds, so by the time we got there, I was huffing and puffing. And immediately noticed Fail #3: we hadn't brought anything to sit on. Most people had chairs. Or, at the very least, blankets to pad the cold concrete curbs. But did we have such foresight? No. So now, not only was I "the Mom who didn't put coats on her kids" - I was "the Mom who made those poor coatless kids sit on that cold sidewalk."

Which brings us to Fail #4: no thoughtful, warming pre-parade treats. The mom on one side of us was offering her beaming (bundled, sitting-on-blankets) kids hot chocolate from a Thermos. Did I have any such thing? No. Of course not. My kids' only sustenance was the Marshmallow Mateys that they'd eaten - from a plastic baggie - for breakfast. (Which, now that I think of it, could probably be constituted as Fail #5 - but hey, I'd been in a hurry.)

And then there was the matter of Cameron. Almost-two-year-olds do not do so well when they aren't strapped into a stroller. Thank God the parade hadn't started when he broke free from my grip and hurtled himself into the street, where I had to chase him down.

Finally, to pin the Worst Mother of the Year award firmly in place, came Health-Conscious Mom and her germ-free, appropriately dressed kids. They sat down next to us, and even though I wasn't exactly putting out the "let's talk" vibe, she kept talking to me.

"I wonder how many of these kids are going to be sick tomorrow?" she wondered out loud, gesturing vaguely. "I mean look. They're not even wearing coats!" Then, with a sideways glance at my coatless kids, she quickly added, "And they're in short-sleeved shirts!"

Then: "Have you gotten your kids vaccinated for that H1N1 yet? I got mine done right away. They're having a clinic on Monday, you know."

Then, when a guy came around selling cotton candy: "Oh that's great, get all these kids high on sugar, that's just what they need."

... So I bought my kids some cotton candy. I don't know if that's why she decided to get up and move or if it was some other reason entirely, but I wasn't sad to see her go.

Finally the parade started, and the boys settled down for like fifteen minutes to watch.

Then in his excitement, Colin grabbed some lady's butt, thinking it was me.

Needless to say, I was glad when the parade was over. I didn't have the greatest time in the world, but I learned a valuable lesson: you can never be too prepared. And next year, I'm putting my kids in snowsuits and earmuffs, bringing the stroller and some comfy chairs and some blankets, and installing a damn capuccino-and-cocoa machine next to us.

That ought to do the trick.