Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk, and other old fashioned sayings that I never thought would apply to me

I really need to watch what I say.

The other day, while talking on the phone to my cousin Sarah (this happens quite a lot), I mentioned that I hoped I wouldn’t be the type of mother who overreacts to something as simple as spilled milk. Well…let me be totally honest… I said I hoped I could STOP overreacting to Levi spilling his milk. I remember getting screamed at as a child because I accidentally dropped a pitcher of orange juice all over the floor because it was too heavy. I remember feeling both ashamed and angry, because after all, it WAS just an accident… why was it such a big deal? I swore I would never react that way to my OWN children… heaven forbid!

I should’ve known better.

It appalls me to no end that I react EXACTLY the same way. I never have time for a 10 second cool down because I react immediately… and then hate myself afterwards. How is it that these stupid little things get to me so badly? Why can’t I see it from my son’s perspective? I was young once, and I knew what it was like to get yelled at constantly… why can’t I learn from that?

So, OK….I’ll learn from it. It’s never too late, right?

SO that fatal conversation happened early on Wednesday morning (ok, who am I kidding? It felt early to me, but it was after noon, definitely. There’s no early phone convos going on with this late riser). I uttered those words, feeling conviction and a bright spark of hope that I COULD change my ways! I could totally change my reactive personality by sincerely announcing good intentions! Right?

That bright spark (of hope, remember?) would’ve served me better if it had been a lightning bolt of reality, sent to strike me as a warning that Plans Announced Out Loud will immediately set into motion Situations To Test and Challenge. How could I forget? Did I really think change would just happen magically?

Tragically, yes.

I kid you not---less than one hour later, I handed Levi his sippy cup, then sat down to watch an episode of Heroes (GREAT show! Why did it take me so long to get hooked? Although, not gonna lie, there are way too many twists in every single episode. I mean, come ON.) ANYWAY, Levi, with full sippy cup in hand, decides he isn’t thirsty, so he TOSSES his sippy cup onto the couch. He was aiming for the cup holder at least, but his aim isn’t great and those sippy cups only give the illusion that the cap on top can prevent spills. Luckily, I managed to grab it before the top came off, but there was still milk splattered over half of the couch. With my recent conversation with Sarah fresh in mind, I actually laughed to myself, thinking I should call her back and let her know how ironically funny this was. If only I had known.

I shouldn’t have laughed to myself. My amusement only added to the Tide of Trials that was, unbeknownst to me, looming dangerously in the near distance. I’m not kidding. The irony of this situation has taught me to tremble with fear at the thought of carelessly tossing out a chuckle at a seemingly innocent Life Lesson.

Levi managed to make it through that sippy cup without further incident, and I mistakenly believed I was in the clear. What an easy lesson! I am, as we used to say back in the day, The Bomb! (I should erase that. Do I really need to sound like more of a Grandma? I already quilt and scrapbook constantly. Siiigh.)

Then came Sippy Cup #2. You can probably guess what essentially happened, with the outcome being spilled milk everywhere. Of course. I don’t need to go into details, but I did not respond well. On the plus side, I did NOT scream. At first, I just kind of stared in shock and realized, with a horrific jolt, that I was being tested. Twice in one day, after LITERALLY discussing spilled milk this morning? I didn’t have to be Einstein to realize the connection. However, I was still angry. Levi had spilled the milk ON PURPOSE. That’s fine, Levi! I don’t mind having to go to the store EVERY OTHER DAY for TWO (yes, TWO!) gallons of milk! Oh, what? The cost of milk has shot up to a ridiculous $3?? WHO CARES! We’re MADE of money, right?! I’m pretty sure, although I didn’t yell, that what I did had just about the same effect, as I got in Levi’s face and essentially growled, through tightly clenched teeth, what I thought of his actions. I then stormed off (after cleaning up the milk), to sit and agonize over how I had knowingly recognized a test and failed it.

It was a really, REALLY bad day for me. Why is it that I make decisions that affect my personal growth on days that inevitably turn out to be so intensely overwhelming and depressing? Am I a glutton for punishment? Do I subconsciously want to fail?

But the day wasn’t over yet. I spent about three hours crying (not just from the spilled milk… although in writing that, I have just realized the irony here, because HELLO, haven’t I heard the saying a million times… “Don’t cry over spilled milk?” Oh… irony… you are a devious bastard.) I was in the kitchen, trying to calm myself down while being a good housewife and making dinner for John, when I heard a loud CRASH and then John yelling “OH NO! COME ON, LEVI! REALLY??” I didn’t even want to go into the living room, but, like I said, I must have a penchant for punishment. I walked into the room, and John informed me that he had left a cup full of milk sitting out that he had forgotten earlier, and Levi had just knocked it over with a pillow that he had been swinging wildly around the room. Oh, and the milk was on a table covered in pens, papers and DVD’s (I’ve been lax with clearing the clutter lately. Sue me). John didn’t have time to clean up the mess because he was rushing to get ready to leave for his second job, so guess who got to clean up the mess for a third time that day?

I saw it clearly for what it was. “Here you go,” God was saying, “I’m helping you change!”

I silently cleaned up the milk. I wiped down about 30 DVD’s, and collected the pens and tried to dry them off. (I’m sure they’ll always smell slightly funky after this.) I threw away most of the papers, and sprayed the table with an antibacterial cleaner. John hovered in the background, randomly throwing out questions as he got his stuff together. “You ok? You’re really quiet…” “Are you sure? I can’t tell when you only nod…” “Ok, I’m leaving now… are you really ok?” Nod. Yes. I’m fine. But thinking: Ok, have a good night, I love you, I appreciate you and the fact that you’re leaving for your second job, …but I need you to leave before I lose it. He did, luckily. And I didn’t lose it. Well, I might have lost some brain function from the extreme deprivation of oxygen, but I didn’t scream. I didn’t hiss anything at Levi. I didn’t even give him a cross look. I just walked into the kitchen, had a minor (silent) stroke, and then walked back into the living room, sat down, turned on Heroes, and thought, On the plus side, that table looks so much better now!