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After one too many visits to Hartford Coffee in which I became irritated by my fellow parents, I hadn't frequented them very often, aside from the occasional playdate.

While I don't do resolutions, at the beginning of this year I decided that I needed to take Clara Jane to Hartford more often. It's fun for her, since they have a play area that's usually populated with kids her age. And it's fun for me, because I can sit two feet away from her with three gallons of coffee and a book. Everyone wins!

We went last Monday, and it was perfect, aside from the fact that I forgot to bring a book. I read all the local free newspapers while she played, and had a lovely conversation with one of my favorite animals - a stay-at-home dad. I love spotting them in the wild. They're always fun to talk to. For some reason I tend to take on quicker with them than with other moms of my ilk, simply because conversations with dads aren't nearly as likely to be loaded with Mommy War fodder.

This week, things were different. The coffeehouse was more like a prison for very, very short offenders who'd organized a very disorganized riot. The place was crawling with toddlers who were flinging toys, screaming, and falling directly in my path.

Have we walked in on a Junior Espresso Drinkers of St. Louis meeting? And if so, can I get my three gallons of coffee to go, please?

No such luck, as Clara Jane clambored over the piles and piles of babies on her way to the train table. I got my coffee, climbed over the baby heaps, and took a seat on the couch in the play area.

Now, this struck me as being not right. Despite the army of children in the play area and the ample, comfy seating, the play area was nearly devoid of parents. Two women sat at the closest table, visiting over lunch, while one of their sons repeatedly climbed onto the train table, jumped on it, and launched himself through the air to the couch. This boy was easily a year or two older than Clara Jane.

I caught myself thinking horrible things about this child, hoping that he might inflict a slight injury upon himself. Nothing serious or disfiguring, of course. And not because I was upset with the kid. Kids do what kids do. I just wanted to see what it would take for his mother to shut the fuck up and manage her kids.

As for the rest of the kids, they appeared to belong to a gaggle of moms who were sitting at a large table, completely out of sight from the play area.

I don't get this. I really, really don't get this. Perhaps this is an artifact of being an only child and having an only child. Most of these moms seemed to have two and three kids each. I can't fathom how hard it is to parent that many kids, how exhausting it must be, and, if I had that many kids, how desperately I would cling to any opportunity to forget the kids and partake in some adult interaction. I'm trying really hard to not judge because parenting is so, so, so hard and I can't know what motivates any other parent. Hell, there are plenty of times when I'm not 100% sure what's motivating me as a parent.

But dammit, after the fifth time I had to tell someone else's kid to stop snatching toys away from my kid, I started feeling like these other parents flat-out didn't give a shit. As hard I was trying to not judge, I kept thinking, "Selfish parents, selfish kids." But as soon as I'd think that, I'd want to slap myself for being one of those moms, the judgemental, mean ones who act like her parenting methods are the only correct ones and everyone else is neglectful and terrible.

It just seemed like a lot of those kids really, really wanted some attention.

Luckily, the craziness began to end quickly. The stay-at-home dad and his wife came in with their little girl, so the rest of the afternoon was filled with fun, intelligent conversation while the kids played in relative peace. It restored my faith a bit that maybe I'm not just a hardass as a parent, or a bitchy, competitive mom. It also verified something I knew deep-down: the episode of "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" featuring Danzig, while it's an accurate depiction of selling a home, isn't appropriate for toddlers.