Cheeseburger that wasn't from paradise

Well, hi. Knock, knock, knock. This thing still on?

February has been busy. And that's putting it mildly. Many planes. Many trips. Many hours. Many balls to juggle. And when you juggle balls, inevitably, you drop some.

And so in the midst of it, a few days ago, I found myself racing with three minutes to spare, and yet 12 minutes to drive, with three hungry kids in the car.

So I spun it as only a PR girl can do. Hey kids, let's get a treat and get McDonald's for dinner!

And so began the dance of me trying to navigate three boys who all simultaneously order food like Meg Ryan from When Harry Met Sally and the audio ordering system that makes you feel like you must be getting Punk'd (do people still get Punk'd anymore? Don't answer that, I will feel old) and me stressing out about being late.

Cue the foreshadowing.

We get through the drive through and I begin happily handing Happy Meals to the back of the car. We drive away.

Cue the foreshadowing, part 2.

Suddenly Caleb has announced that his chicken nuggets are actually a cheeseburger. And if you know anything about Caleb it's that anything with cheese is like coating something with devil spit. I have no idea what that means, but maybe you do. And if so, you know it's not good.

"Caleb, we are late, it's been a long day, there is a Star Wars toy in the box. Can you please deal with the cheese?"

Dramatic antics increase. And while I am increasingly annoyed, I do remind myself that I might just be glad, given this emotional pre-teen outburst, that I don't have girls.

I grab a napkin, pass it back and ask him to scrape the cheese off. You can guess how well than went over. And if you can't, I can tell you that it ended in me taking the cheeseburger back and trying to drive one handed and scrape cheese off onto the skirt of my suit with my other hand, while rapidly losing my temper.

I handed the cheeseburger back and, with blocks to go, requested, strongly, that he eat it. Turns out the residual cheese was too much. Not to mention by this point he was complaining that it was now a double cheeseburger. I didn't have the wherewithal or rational thoughts left to share that our passing it back and forth had crushed it to the point it now appeared to be a double cheeseburger.

He lost it and so did I. Not a proud moment. I mean I lost it. The cheeseburger proceeded to be handed back and forth between he and I two more times. Until I was done. Four months of stress, a month of travel. Ten minutes of intense ridiculous stress. Life just caught up with me.

And then I did it. I cracked. With mustard all over my hand, I hit the power switch on the window on a cold Minnesota night and found myself chucking the smashed cheeseburger out the window. A formerly perfectly good cheeseburger flung out onto the freeway.

An angry, stubborn mom. A stubborn, sad boy. A rough moment.

Followed by some deep breaths, a hug, an apology.

Followed by Eli opening up his Happy Meal to announce that he wanted chicken nuggets and had a hamburger.

And I had to laugh. And by laugh, I do mean a wry, sad, amazed, yet incredibly cathartic laugh.

Parenting is hard. Especially when you have one Happy Meal go wrong. And freak out. Only to realize that it was all just a mess up and while there was one wrong meal, it got mixed up and became one wrong meal turned into two. Multiplied by Pi.

Ah well, at least the city rats were fed for one night.

And someday, my kids will laugh at me. I hope.