Don't cry over spilled milk

Ya, so that whole phrase "don't cry over spilled milk"? Ya, that's a bunch a baloney. That darn phrase has been nagging at me for years when my girls would spill their drinks, milk being the most popular, and I'm here to say that I ain't agreeing with it. Just like I also don't agree with the whole "don't get to bed angry" either. Both are totally unrealistic and all they do is make women feel bad for being mad. I decided that the person that came up with the spilled milk quote was either single, only had one child or was a grandparent. Because, darn tootin', there's no way a mother of three coined those words unless she was a Stepford wife and didn't have any feelings.

Yesterday morning was like every other school morning ... 85 percent crazy. It started out somewhat peaceful, as most of the earth is at 5:00 a.m., but by 5:30 the 14 year old can't find their favorite black leggings and HAS to have them because that's what her friends said to wear, blames me for the fact she can't find them and then dumps out every clothes basket imaginable in search for the infamous black leggings. "Why don't you just wear your other ones?" I simply suggest. Oh no, they're too short and fit weird and the so the search continues destroying dresser drawers and bags hoping they jump out at her. Ya know, at 5:30am, I just wanna make sure she's awake and ate breakfast, and then I basically just want to sit and drink a cup of coffee and read the newspaper. I could care less about the black leggings that perhaps should have been found the night before instead of 20 minutes before it's time to leave.

Then from 6-7:30 a.m., it's a bit like backstage of a fashion show. A bunch of girls running around, trying to get dressed, sometimes changing multiple times and walking out to show us their outfits to see if we approve, like a runway. People are shoving food in their mouths, checking their phones, drinking coffee, not smoking though! And the coffee, that's just me. Hair is getting all pretty and everyone is trying to get out of the house on time so no one is late to school. We don't shoot to be early to school, only NOT to be late. Anyway, it's a little loud and nutty and when it's over, it looks like a bomb went off.

So ... in the midst of this backstage fashion show chaos, with 10 minutes before we need to leave for school, when the 9 year old slaps her full glass of milk off the counter, spraying milk like a fire hose all over the kitchen, I get mad! I'm sorry, but for the love of Pete! I know it was an accident but as I'm standing there dressed for work and I watch the milk shoot 360 degrees around the kitchen, splattering the floor, cabinets, and her and me both, joy and forgiveness just don't come flowing out. It irritates me. Big time! I give her the ol' first and middle name with a big sigh and start to clean up the obnoxious mess. Due to time constraints, I contemplate leaving it till lunch, but then, nope, milk sours. Gotta clean it.

As I'm sopping up what seems like 3 gallons of spilled milk dripping and pooling in my kitchen, I think, I'm gonna find that person who said "don't cry over spilled milk" and slap them. I'm gonna make them come clean up this stupid mess and see if they're smiling at 7:40 a.m., smelling like milk with kids running around yelling at you that they're gonna be late now. Bunch a nonsense! I didn't stay mad, but I decided I'm not feeling guilty for getting angry about it. Shoot, I get mad at myself when I spill. It is what it is. No one cried, no one got in trouble but that still doesn't mean I had to smile and giggle, "Oopsies, little one! That darn milk glass musta just jumped off the counter, didn't it? Well, let Mama get 'er all cleaned up and you just run along now." Nope. Not happening. Let's be real, here! It was ME that wanted to cry over spilled milk. The mom that has to clean it. That's what's real!