Good mom, bad mom

I admit, I consider myself to be an excellent mother. My boys, ages three and two, are amply loved, nurtured, and educated. I buy organic foods as much as possible, I've succeeded in achieving a healthy balance between my work and time spent with the children, and I must get extra credit for teaching a weekly toddler music class. We even threw out our TV over a year ago in order to not have that negative influence in our house. People tell me I'm doing a great job. More importantly, I know I am doing a good job because I see the results: happy, healthy, confident, loving children. However, there is such a thing as over-confidence, and recently I experienced a nasty wake-up call.

Our neighborhood is extremely safe. We live on a quiet, low-traffic street, and we know most of our neighbors, many of whom have young families. In fact, our neighborhood is a tight social network, helping each other out in times of need, and celebrating birthdays and holidays together. My husband and I had become quite comfortable with the children playing in our unfenced backyard while we kept an eye on them from indoors. We also became accustomed to allowing them to leave the house ahead of us once their shoes and coats are on, instead of making them wait until we were all ready and leaving the house together.

Becoming accustomed to that feeling of security, over time, allowed us to let our guard down. More specifically, it's this comfortable sense of security that got me into trouble last Monday morning.

On Monday, after my husband had left for work in his usual rush, I told the boys I'd be in the shower for the next few minutes, and left them to play on the sofa cushions they'd heaped on the floor. To my horror, just as I was finishing my shower I heard a woman's voice loudly calling from the doorway.

She'd found the boys wandering outside in their pajamas and brought them back into the house. I was too embarrassed to say anything more than thank-you. The woman, who was understandably concerned, began to lecture me about allowing my children to wander about, saying that if I didn't respond to her, she would call the police.

"Yes," I said, feeling ashamed and juvenile. "Yes, I hear you," as I hastily toweled my hair. By the time I found something to cover myself with, she'd left and I turned my attention to the boys, who were standing sheepishly in the entry. My oldest son was crying, afraid the police would come and take me to jail.

In those few moments, I'd gone from super-mom to daytime talk-show material. How could I have been so irresponsible? How could I have taken the safety of my children so lightly? And why, this one time, could it not have been a friendly neighbor walking by, rather than someone I'd never met?

I remained outwardly calm, for the children's sake, but began talking severely to them about the seriousness of what had happened. My son objected, as he thought he was helping. Earlier that morning, my husband had not been able to find his pager, a crucial accessory to his workday, and had left without it. Just after I stepped into the shower, my oldest son found the pager between the sofa cushions, and thought he'd bring it to his dad; his little brother was just tagging along. This broke my heart. He was doing what he thought was the right thing.

It was our fault for not teaching the absolute rule of never leaving the house without an adult. I said this to him, and we talked about it for the next several minutes.

We were all beginning to recover, and I took my youngest in to go potty. Then I heard his brother begin to howl as I'd never heard him howl before. The police were at our door. My older son was hunkered down on the sofa, hiding, convinced they would take me away. My nerves now completely jangled, I scooped him into my arms and answered the door with all the calm I could muster. As soon as I'd opened the door, I instantly became aware of the disorderly scene around me-cushions and toys on the living room floor, breakfast dishes out on the table. My youngest son had just emerged from the bathroom naked from the waist-down, I was damp and disheveled, but at least dressed. What must these police officers think of me?

I couldn't help but see myself through their eyes: a bad mom. The officers, however, were very polite and sensitive to their presence being upsetting for the children. They explained that they were obliged to respond to any call regarding children's safety and just wanted to make sure everything was okay. They handed out stickers to the boys and were as kind and non-intimidating as they could possibly be.

After they left, we all huddled and hugged. I explained that mommy had not been careful, and that luckily there were police to remind us to be careful. The children calmed down and accepted my explanation. But it had scared us all enough to ensure that the children would think twice before bolting from the house, and that I would never again take a shower without my husband being in the house to watch them.

As for myself, that day I spanned the entire emotional gamut. From my initial reaction of embarrassment, to growing anger at the woman for calling the police, to finally letting go of those reactions and looking inward at my own failing. I realized that this woman (whose identity I still don't know) holds no personal significance for me. I am thankful for her concern in finding and returning my children (although, to this day, I haven't been able to discover from them just where they were when she found them).

Not only did this experience shock me enough to cause me to recognize and address my carelessness about enforcing safety rules, it also taught me humility. Having found myself on the other side of that equation, I have learned to let go of pride, to think twice before making a judgment or voicing an opinion, and to trust that each mother is doing the best she can. We all have our weak moments. All we can do is love our children enough to want to protect them from our shortcomings; to want to better ourselves in order to better love them.