The day that broke me started out all carnival games and smiles. We had exited the San Diego County Fair where we had eaten ice cream cones for breakfast, had worn out the creaky children’s rides and purchased metallic pinwheels to make the wind entertaining. I deemed the morning successful as I hadn’t lost any of the kids. Normally, I didn’t take all three kids by myself, usually my husband Patrick or a babysitter accompanied me. Alana, who was 5-years-old, suffered from Involuntary Breath Holding Spells which was a condition where sudden pain, anger, or fear caused her to stop breathing. Then due to lack of oxygen, she turned purple and passed out or she experienced a one hour grand mal seizure. So she usually required one-to-one coverage. I required a glass of wine and a quiet corner for my nonstop worry.

Though my other two kids didn’t share her condition, Shannon, my seven year old, presented with different challenges. She talked early, knew all her colors by eighteen months, and taught herself to read at four. Strong-willed didn’t quite capture what she was. If we told her to put away her toys, this meant grabbing every toy that might have been put away and placing it on the floor. Alana’s issues intensified Shannon’s anxiety and our house felt like a three-ring circus with me as the unsuccessful lion tamer. 

I loaded the kids into the minivan, gave everyone a drink, and started Finding Nemo on the van screen. Luckily, Brigit, my almost 2-year-old, usually fell asleep. Maybe it’s my lucky day and Alana will fall asleep too. I exited the dirt parking lot and headed toward the freeway onramp. I turned right onto the ramp and saw the miles of red taillights crawling along the freeway. Immediate panic filled my soul.“No, no, no, no, NOOO! What’s going on?” Shit! 

I could feel my dreams of a peaceful ride home fading like my other dreams – like a full night’s sleep or wrinkle cream that worked. I longed for the traffic-free roads in Minnesota. Where were the happy cows that bordered each side or the flowers and evergreen trees?

 “Mom! Make her stop screaming,” shrieked Shannon as she flailed in her booster seat. My head pounded as I moved through thick city traffic. “I can’t hear the MOVIE!” A chorus of screaming echoed through the van. Brigit and Alana sat in the last row of my Goldfish-crumbs-in-every-crevice-minivan, whimpering. I white-knuckled the steering wheel. 

At five miles an hour, the van never reached speeds necessary to rock a tired child to sleep and Brigit started crying. In my best soothing mom voice, I said, “It’s okay, I’m right here.” She didn’t buy it and kept screaming. The other two kids ignored her until they couldn’t hear Finding Nemo. My shoulders ached and my eyes alternated between scanning the road and studying my rear view mirror. 

“Shannon, can you talk to Brigit and maybe hold her hand?”

“NOOOO! Make her stop screaming. I can’t hear the MOVIE!” 

I glanced at Shannon as her face contorted in anger and her feet dug into the seat. Comforting her sister was not in her repertoire. My heart beat faster. I turned the music up and sang happy songs from the front seat. I searched for an exit. Nothing. I searched for a bridge to drive off. We crawled. Brigit crying. Shannon screaming. Alana whimpering. Me wavering between a comforting tone and screaming, “Just be quiet! I can’t do anything!” like they could be talked out of exhaustion. 

I tried to drive safely with the eardrum bursting levels of crying. The last thing I needed was to rear end someone. My eyes darted back and forth as the walls of the van closed in on me.

And that’s when it happened. Uncontrolled tears fell from my eyes and I realized, I am in the car ALL the time with the kids. I drive to the park. I sit in traffic. I drive to the playground. I sit in traffic. I drive to school. I sit in traffic. Someone is always crying in the car and half the time it’s me. I know other people drive all over the country all the time and it doesn’t bother them. Why can’t I do this? And why won’t they stop screaming?!  I was a forty-five year old stay at home mother to three girls who was fiercely committed to this mothering thing and I needed help.

To be continued…