Not Even Kidding

This evening I refereed a squabble that involved a pepperoni roll to the eye.  Not even kidding.

If my daughters don’t stop bickering, I’m going to need strong meds and a padded room.

As we left our evening church service today, I overflowed with the power of the Easter message.  Our three pastors delivered an incredible sermon, retelling the greatest story ever told.  It was both beautiful and gut-wrenching.

I shook Pastor Steve’s hand as we exited, my other hand holding Izzi’s.  In Gracie’s hand was a little white gift bag with a small treat from the church, a homemade pepperoni roll.

Who would’ve guessed that these sweet girls in their Sunday best would turn a West Virginia original –fresh bread stuffed with dripping pepperoni and, sometimes, cheese –into a dangerous weapon?  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First, Izzi hissed at Gracie.  Seriously, she hissed, like a cat, for no reason.

Then Gracie bopped her in the forehead, like a cat.

If Gracie’d had a spray bottle, I’d bet she’d have squirted her in the face.

Before my husband even got in the car, my peaceful feeling turned into “What is wrong with you two??  We haven’t even left the church parking lot!  Did you listen to the message?  Jesus died on a cross for you.”

I swear I’m generally a nice person, but my daughters don’t know it because they turn me into a nagging, ranting, sometimes yelling-in-the-church-parking lot kind of crazy mom.

I lectured a bit and ten minutes later we were in the Walmart parking lot.  Nothing pops the poignant church message bubble like a trip to the grocery store.  But when our house is out of chocolate milk, it’s a crisis.  The girls opted to wait in the (locked) car while we made the Walmart dash –chocolate milk, bread, and water.  I tossed the items in the cart, then left my husband to check out so that I could return to the car and recline my aching legs.

But, alas, my children ruined that.

I open my car door and Gracie begins telling her side of the story.  I glance at Izzi and realize she is bawling.  Like inhaling big gulps of air bawling.

Brace yourself for this mom’s response.

Without a word, I shut the door and walked back into Walmart.

Yes, that’s how much I’d had it.  Their bickering actually turned Walmart into a REFUGE!

Again.  Not.  Even.  Kidding.

As much as I wanted to check out, you’re never allowed to check out of parenting.  There’s no freaking pause button or even a fast-forward-through-the-crap button.  So, I obviously returned to the car where I heard Gracie actually say the words, “It was just a pepperoni roll!”

To which Izzi replied, “IN MY EYE!”

There were tears and sighs and more yelling for a couple miles, then stone cold silence the rest of the way home.

Now I’m pounding away at this keyboard while they giggle in the other room.  They’re over it already and hanging out like best friends.  There’s no hissing or pepperoni roll weapons.  No eye rolls or snarky comments.

Parenting is weird, folks.  Can I get an “Amen?”