Upon waking my three young children very early on a recent fall morning, I dressed and feed them with a quiet urgency that let them know this was no ordinary day. By the time we left our apartment on the Upper West Side, my children had been briefed on their important objective, and they immediately fell into line behind me as we marched toward Broadway, grimly determined to meet our annual blind date with destiny: We were off to Harry’s Shoes for back-to-school shoe-shopping day

“Don’t worry, Mommy,” my 6 1/2-year-old daughter Noa assured me, squeezing my hand. “You’ll be okay!”

Most public and private schools have been open for at least a week now, but the early fall frenzy that marks the beginning of the year drags on. In the after-school hours, frantic parents shuttle their precious progeny between hotspots like Harry’s, Cozy’s Cuts for Kids salon, and the pediatrician’s office, cramming in as much shopping and grooming as they possibly can. Parenting in Manhattan has always been rife with site-specific challenges, like finding a taxi to get your children to school when it rains. But as more families remain in the city, the battle over limited resources like a size-24 pair of Primigi Mary Janes is only intensifying.

For moms like me with multiple school-age children (I also have an almost 5-year-old son and a 3-year-old daughter), “re-entry” from summer vacation is intense. Since every other mother I know is trying to accomplish exactly what I am, I feel like a gerbil running endlessly on a Habitrail.

“People respond to the same impetus of instinct,” a children’s store owner, who prefers not to be named because he fears the competition, said. “Everyone is walking into the same wall.”

That includes hours of speed dialing for school applications on the notorious Day After Labor Day; registering for coveted karate, baseball, or swim classes; and advance planning for late-fall birthday parties. Add to that the strain of the dragged-out “Phase In” period for kids just starting school and the jockeying that goes on at “new parents’ breakfasts” and “Open School Nights.” To amuse myself, or at least to keep from crying, I refer to my hectic (though admittedly rarified) lifestyle as “Sippy Cups and the City.”

The first episode of this Manhattan dramedy would begin at the shoe store Harry’s. Though we arrived more than a half hour before it opened, there were already two other families ahead of us waiting outside.

Jodi Press, a raven-haired young mother of two, had scoped out Harry’s sneaker selection the day before. Now she was back with 2-year-old son Clyde — calmly strapped into his stroller popping Cheerios into his mouth — to close the deal.

“It’s a madhouse in there,” Ms. Press, who left an 8-month-old at home with a sitter, said. “Last year I brought Clyde and waited 25 minutes. I missed my turn because I didn’t hear them call me.”

In fact, the store boasts a reasonably democratic roll-call system, in which customers sign in and weary salespeople yell out their names. But it’s still vulnerable to corruption. Janiqua Williams, a soft-spoken 24-year-old assigned to help my crew, confided that customers sometimes erase other people’s names from the list and replace them with their own.

“But we always figure it out,” she added.

Within moments of the opening bell at 10 a.m., Harry’s 450-foot children’s area was crammed with at least 30 antsy children and their long-suffering moms. Most, like me, wore expressions of mute resignation. Presiding over it all was the cool, commanding David Hill, an impeccably dressed man who looks like the Bobby Short of children’s shoes. As Harry’s longtime children’s shoe manager, Mr. Hill worked the room, referring to most customers by name and many by size, he won the trust of many grateful parents.

“Do you think I have time for interviews now?” he joked, weaving his way through the tense crowd.” Call me after October 1!” (Things may only get busier then: A new Harry’s store devoted solely to kids will open down the street next month.)

Two hours and 12 pairs of shoes later — including, I’m ashamed to admit, a kid-size pair of Kors suede clogs for Noa that I had been eyeing for myself on Zappos.com — we emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. “On to Cozy’s!” I commanded, praying for strength.

I had booked three back-to-back appointments with our longtime stylist, Michelle Stacy, six weeks in advance. But we were still entering another high-pressure zone. A couple dozen children, mothers, and baby sitters blocked the aisles, including several families we had seen earlier fighting over pint-size Pumas at Harry’s. “This is brutal,” one woman complained, pushing past us with a bulging Harry’s shopping bag held above her head.

Shouting to be heard over the cacophony of crying toddlers, loud videos (to distract the customers), and hair dryers, Ms. Stacy told me that during this busiest season she often sees up to 30 children a day, up almost 50% from her normal schedule.

“The moms are flipping out,” Ms. Stacy said, calmly cutting my son Caleb’s wild curls as he sat in a red plastic jeep chair, sedated by “Power Rangers.”

At Cozy’s, the competition is fierce for a coveted “walk-in” spot, which opens up when someone with an appointment is more than 10 minutes late. During the height of the back-to-school period, some of Ms. Stacy’s loyal followers wait up to three hours for one of these last-minute spots. Apparently the real drama occurs when those who have missed their turns finally show up and argue loudly that they have been unjustly displaced. (Thankfully, I have never witnessed this, though last year I did watch as a neighbor of mine almost came to blows with a salesperson at Harry’s.)

By day’s end, my amazingly patient kids, who had been bribed with lunch at Garlic Bob’s, their favorite pizza place, were well shod, well shorn, and ready for school. As for me, I was relieved to have once again miraculously survived the Manhattan Mom’s equivalent of a seasonal suicide mission.