(Photo Credit: Kimona Paramour Photography)

As parents, we like to eye roll and commiserate about our failings as parents.

We made an elaborate lunch to trick our toddler into eating vegetables. Not only won’t he eat it, he later finds and raids your Super Secret Stash of Snickers, leaving a trail chocolate smears and wrappers through the house.

You forget to check to see what your kid is wearing before they leave for something and find out too late they are wearing something wildly inappropriate for the occasion or the weather.

The kids learn something about life from your behavior that you didn’t intend to teach them and then share it in public at the worst time.

But nobody is dying. No one’s life is in danger.

We wear those kind of fails as badges of honor, a series of moments where we glorify in the funny, embarrassing times when our kids shine a light on our humanity.

It’s harder to talk about the times when we actually mess up.

I lost two of my kids today.

I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I’d known about it for a long time. Less than 24 hours before, my teenage son finally gave me the details I needed about what event he would be performing at on the same day. The times for his event and the appointment overlapped, and it was too late for me to cancel my appointment.

I’d set the kids up watching The Sound of Music and left for my doctor’s appointment, telling them to put their coats on and be ready to leave the moment they heard me pull in the driveway when I returned.

When I got home from the doctor, the kids were by the door in their coats, and we left in record time, to drive in circles for ten minutes downtown trying to figure out parking. It was 45 minutes after my son had arrived and I had no idea when he was to perform. He didn’t want us to come and had been very stingy with details.

We finally found a place to park and headed down to the concourse, Albany’s downtown underground gathering space. I didn’t know where I was going, and the kids were the ones who first saw where the event was taking place.

It was the MLK event at the Empire State Plaza.

The event itself was amazing. We made it there in time, enjoyed rousing musical performances, and a charismatic and talented keynote speaker and singer (!). We got to see and cheer on the oldest kid in his school’s drum line and band performance.

The program was entertaining, moving, and educational.

We enjoyed every minute of it, except when the man behind us started eating an apple and reminded my kids of food, which meant they suddenly became fiercely hungry.

The promise of cake and cookies at the end, mentioned on the program, is what got the littles through.

They didn’t hand out drinks with the refreshments, and I hadn’t brought any water bottles because before the event turned out to be amazing, I wasn’t even sure we’d be there for that long.

We ate our cake at cafe tables on the concourse, then my oldest girl announced she was thirsty. I distractedly answered there were usually drinking fountains near the bathrooms and she disappeared. Moments later, she reappeared with a big smile on her face and gave the thumbs up. The next oldest girl followed her to get water and left the rest of us.

They didn’t return immediately and everyone else was thirsty, too. We started to walk toward where they had gone. I was watchfully looking for their return, but also keeping a close eye on the four small people I still had with me.

I found a (the?) water fountain and gave the Littles a drink, then slowly made my way with them back toward the table where we had been sitting. Still no sign of the girls. Not sure which fountain they had found or why they weren’t back.

They weren’t at the table. They weren’t in the concourse. They weren’t getting a second helping of cookies. Or in the area where the event had been held.

I wasn’t worried yet. My kids are independent.

My only concern was that we were all unfamiliar with the concourse and that they had turned the wrong way on the way back. But the oldest had already come back from wherever she had gone the first time without a problem, so that didn’t make sense!

I started looking around for a security guard or someone else to ask for help. It had been too long, and despite staying in the small area where we had been together last, they hadn’t reappeared.

Eventually, someone directed me towards a State Trooper. At first, he looked at me like I had two heads. I was missing kids? But I already had four with me! How could there possibly be more?!

Meanwhile, my phone was almost dead, and being protective of my last 7%, I hadn’t been checking it at all. It was still on vibrate from being at the event.

As I was finishing giving a description of the girls to the State Trooper, I noticed multiple missed calls from my son. We were picking him up after he was finished with his responsibilities associated with the performance. I figured he was ready to be picked up back at his school nearby.

Turns out, my son had the girls with him.

They had come back to the table after getting a drink and we hadn’t been there. They assumed we had left for our car, but weren’t sure how to get there, so they started walking, and somehow came across our oldest as he was near the exit getting ready to take a bus back to his school.

Just as I was putting together what had happened, I had a panicked call from my husband.  My son had called him when I didn’t pick up my phone after 11 missed calls. He was on his way to come get the girls.

I told him he didn’t have to come, and a few minutes later, I was reunited with my daughters.

I was so mad. Mad that I hadn’t come with a water bottle, something I almost always travel with. Mad that I hadn’t realized my phone and battery pack were almost dead before leaving the house. Mad that I had let the kids go without knowing exactly where they were going. Mad that I assumed they would know to come back to where we’d last been together and stay there. Mad that they didn’t know what to do if we got separated. Mad that they would think I would leave them to go to the car without telling them. Mad that my husband’s work day had been disrupted in that way. Mad that I had to get law enforcement involved. Mad that I hadn’t checked my phone sooner.

Losing your kid? Two kids?! THAT is a parenting fail.

Some good came of it. We all talked at length about what we could have done differently and what we should do next time.

I am trying to raise independent kids in a society where leaving your kids to do things by themselves is often considered negligent. And this time, it didn’t work out the way we planned.

It reminded me of all the times when so many of the same pieces were in play, yet nothing went wrong. Parenting often feels like a spinning top on the edge of a cliff. One false move and it flies over the edge. Sometimes it catches on something and just falls to the side, sometimes the top whirls away from the cliff edge for a while and we start to feel a false sense of safety.

I’m trying to get back into the saddle with Real Life after an amazing trip. This was a bitterly cold, harsh comeback. Today was not how I wanted to start the week. I’m hoping for a healthy dose of grace in the next few days.

I want the rest of my parenting fails for the week to be the kind I could slap a hashtag on and laugh about.