It’s a true saying that you should never judge a person before walking a mile in their shoes

The same applies to parenting. A parent with one child should never judge a parent with two, and again those with three and so on!

I’ll admit that the one child version of me was a little smug. I thought I had this parenting thing down and if everything else fell apart, at least I could arrive at church on time. I would – I confess – glance at the late comers filing in at the back with a smidge of pride while judging their apparent inability to set an alarm.

Oh, how I’ve been humbled.

Just the other Sunday we were 45 minutes late. Oh the shame.

We woke early to drop my husband at church just after 6am for sound desk setup duty. I bundled the sleepy toddler and middle child into the car, leaving the eldest asleep for “just a little longer” after a late night. First mistake.

Back home, I opened the cupboard and it was bare (Old Mother Hubbard anyone?). No milk. No peanut butter. Off to the corner shop we went. The friendly staff at ShipTech/Everest are the people, outside of my immediate family, who have most often seen me in a dishevelled state. To their credit, they never seem to judge, no matter how chaotic I look. Once, in the throes of pregnancy, I even christened the forecourt with my lunch… but that is another story entirely.

Meanwhile, my eldest woke up to discover he’d been “left behind” after being promised he could help setup at church. What followed was not a minor complaint, but a full-scale courtroom drama, complete with accusations, cross-examinations and emotional appeals. Half an hour later, I emerged emotionally drained and considering a future career in hostage negotiation.

Then came the real rush, washing, dressing, packing snacks, spare clothes, toys – the works.

Getting into the car took another 20 minutes. Three trips back for forgotten items, a fourth to rescue the dog who had snuck back inside during the confusion and a fifth for the toddler’s essential companions, Mr Fluffy and Sheepie. She also insisted on climbing into her seat “by herself,” which added another five minutes.

By this time I was entirely flustered, but only 35 minutes late.

Enter the church parking lot and the two boys begin fighting. The second born launches himself forward just as I am turning to tell them to quit – we bash heads and I burst into tears. The near concussion was the last straw in my composure. Thankfully, I hadn’t had time to put on mascara.

Just another normal Sunday morning, and proof that you really do need to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.