The sort of spectacle that might have embarassed me once upon a time

I had to give back my Best-Parenting award today. There I was, pushing a screaming toddler in the stroller through Barnes & Noble with one hand, dragging a recalcitrant preschooler all the way from Music to Children's Books with the other (literally: his body was on the floor all the way), yelling Yes You Do Need To Use The Bathroom repeatedly all the while, and trying to weather the disapproving glances from the parents ranged around their little darlings at the train table.

To wit, the backstory:

Monkey got out of the car antsy and disinclined to do anything I asked - nothing complex, just things like standing up or walking. I soon realised this was because he had to pee but wouldn't admit it. Miss was tired, as it was getting on for noon (or something; the hour went forward last night and I've been confused all day about when it was, when I thought it was, and when it really should have been) and she hadn't napped. She also doesn't like being in the stroller, especially when there are lots of interesting things she'd like to be grabbing and running around looking at.

I pulled and pushed the two of them from the carpark to the bookshop where I knew we could hang out awaiting their dad and also use the bathroom, but Monkey shot out of the lift like a cork from a bottle and ran in the opposite direction. I trailed after him with the stroller and its unhappy captive (the guys in Music asked if I needed anything; they got a withering look and probably a muttered request for new children), and when I grabbed Monkey's hand he said, "Drag me," so I did. It only looked like it hurt; he actually finds it hilarious. Once I had manoeuvered him with my foot ("Kick me!") into the Ladies and positioned him in front of the toilet, he actually performed with no more than perfunctory protests, and as soon as it was over he was suddenly a much more reasonable and biddable child. And once that was done I could free Miss from her canvas prison and she miraculously stopped wailing like a stuck pig.

Whereupon I took a deep breath and was able to meet the eyes of the other parents with defiance. Who among us has not been in such a position? Let them throw the first miniature Thomas the Tank Engine. (Trains are Not For Throwing, Felix.)