MOMS: what boils your blood?

I think it's safe to say most moms try to spread the goodwill and good cheer.  Send happy vibes to other moms, teachers (even the ones who don't smile at our children), and try to be kind to some of the peeps out there who just plain aren't nice.

But then, the moment comes.  When all the goodwill and good cheer just gets sucked out.  Defiant 4-year-old insists on dressing himself (which is a wonderful thing, right?), putting us behind 20 minutes.  As in, 20 minutes late to school.  Like this morning.  Here we are, buckled in (finally!).  Hurried.  Late.  Blood boiling.   Nah.  Just a little irritated.

Or this.  Me:  "Hey kids, let's go brush our teeth and read some books!"  Sassy 2-year-old girl or irreverent 4-year-old boy:  "No."

Or how about this.  Me:  "Time to turn off the TV."  Heady 4-year-old walks over and slaps my leg, saying, "Mean mommy."

Really?  Blood getting a little warmer than usual.

How about when you labor over a lovely meal for the sweet ones?  And no one eats...

Blood boiling!  No.  But pretty upset.

Or when they spit on each other, pull each other's hair, steal each other's toys, whine constantly, and don't pick up their rooms.

Blood boiling.    Not really.  But now,  I'm officially mad.

How about when you hire a babysitter and they don't treat your children the way you believe they should be treated?   Ok.  Blood officially boiling.

I got to thinking about all this after a conversation this morning with an old friend.  He told me about the time he came home when a new lady was watching his two toddlers.  She obviously didn't know he was home, because he heard her say to his two-and-a-half-year-old, "I'm gonna whip your butt!"  Needless to say, she was escorted out of that sweet family's home just a few minutes later.

I'm afraid there would've been violence had I heard that.  Because I think it's safe to say that the number one way to cause anger in my heart:  be mean to my kids.  It's kind of an un-written rule.  You can mess with me.  Talk trash.  Make up rumors.  Be rude to my face, stab me in the back.  I don't care.  I ceased caring about all that when I delivered #1.    December 21st, just after 10 p.m., the only thing that truly mattered anymore was this: 

Mis-treat him.  Talk rudely to him or about him.  And you can deal with me. 

The same for October 20th at 3a.m., when I gave birth to her:   

She is now on my watch 24/7. And if you wrong her, you wrong me.  And believe me, you will pay. (Roooaaaaarrrrrrr!!!)  

There.  My rant for the day.  Like that saying, "Don't mess with Texas..."  don't mess with my kids.  You do, and my goodwill and good cheer go out the window.

Moms, what upsets you most?