Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk

So...usually I like to write about things that I feel God has put on my heart or things that make me proud enough to want to share it. Well, today I'm going to do the opposite-I'm going to unleash the beast, the beast that I call 'the mommy beast.' The beast escaped yesterday and I admit she is not a pretty thing. My kids were driving me crazy, I couldn't keep the house in order, they were being wild and whiny, and I just had to get out of the house. So, I gathered the boys, placed them in the mini van, and tried to decide where to take them. I sat there wondering where to go. Ben then says he really really really wants to go to Burger King because they have new Marmaduke toys there. Not what I had in mind but sure, why not. So, we drove down the street to Burger King and sure enough the guy behind the counter messed up our order. 2 kids meals with chicken tenders should not be that difficult to place. But, whatever. I smiled, corrected his mistake (which he did not appreciate), and then we sat down. Once we sit I realize we don't have any straws, napkins or ketchup. I get up and get the straws, napkins and ketchup. I sit back down. Ben says "where's my ranch?" The guy forgot to give us ranch. I get back up, go to the counter where the guy is helping someone else. I wait patiently, feeling the beast about to unleash herself. I wait. I look over at the kids who are laughing about something. I wait. Finally he looks over at me and says "You need something?" I told him we were missing our ranch. He basically threw them across the counter towards me. Jerk. I walk back to the table and give the boys their ranch. Finally, I get to start eating. Uh, nope. Nate just spilled his chocolate milk all over the table and floor. I get back up, grab a crap load of napkins and clean up the mess. I wanted to cry. The spilt milk almost made me cry. Whoever wrote the saying "don't cry over spilt milk" must have been a mom talking to herself. Once the mess is cleaned up, I finally take my first bite of my value meal. By that time the boys are almost done eating and they are getting restless. I ate half of my dinner and gather the boys and head back to the mini van. On the way to the van Nate stops in his tracks and starts to take his shoes off. What the heck? I say to him, "Come on Nate, let's go home!" He says, "No! No! Nooooo! Boo boo!" I walk over to him and look at his feet which are fine. I put his shoe back on and carry him to the van. We drive home. On the way home the boys are fighting about something (I didn't quite catch onto what they were fighting about) and I just lost it. The beast came out. I started yelling. I told them to stop fighting and be quiet. My yelling scared Nate so bad he started crying. The kind of crying that takes his breath away and then proceeds with a loud ear piercing screech. Ugh. He cried all the way home. The 5 minute drive felt like 30, at least. We get home and Nate is refusing to get out of the van. I pick him up and carry him to the house while he is kicking and screaming. We get inside and I put him down where he threw a temper tantrum only a 2 year old can do (which I secretly wish I could get away with doing at times). After about 10 minutes he finally stops, finds me and Ben, and crawls in my lap to cuddle. That's when I took a deep breath, soaked in the moment, and hugged him tight. Once he felt safe again he crawled down from my lap to play with Ben.
I hate the beast. The kids hate the beast. Mark hates the beast. I'm sure God isn't proud of me when I become the beast. There are just days when the beast comes out. I hope I don't see the beast again for a very long time. Or at least hope that the beast will be a little more tame next month ;)