Tomato Soup for the Tortured Soul

There is a bright side to one's minivan being ankle deep in discarded jackets and sweaters. When your daughter up ends her bowl of tomato rice soup on to the floor, very little car clean-up is required. All you gotta do is scoop up the clothes and drop them in the wash.

So I did recover from today's tomato soup spill. But not before I blew a gasket upon hearing the bowl clatter to the floor.

Let me set the scene for you: I had failed to feed the children in a timely manner, and had just spent the last 10 minutes trying to rush everyone through a late lunch in order to herd them all into the car and get Cenzo to his soccer practice. Everyone, more or less, finished, but Tallulah did not and she was having a love affair with this soup. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving it behind. I could have put my foot down, but I was in one of those situations where you have to choose your battles. I chose unwisely. I let her bring the bowl of soup.

Before we had been in the car for even one minute, I heard the clatter and roared: "DID THAT SOUP JUST SPILL?" Meek little voice from the back seat: "ye-es..." Here, I let fly my trademark mother-growl: "ARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!" I've actually passed this growl on to my kids, and I cringe whenever I hear them do it. I don't cringe when I do it; usually I'm too busy throwing something. And then, I swore. "SHIT!" (I did not yet know that the jackets caught most of the soup at this point. I was imagining ropes of creamy soup and globs of reddish rice sliding down the back of the seat in front of her.)

Lola immediately reacted to my shenanigans: "Mom! Don't do that! Please, Mom!"

I told her: "Lola, when you have kids one day, and you are in a hurry, and it's freezing cold and raining, and you have to shuffle everyone into your van to get somewhere on time, and your daughter fights with you over bringing her soup, and you give in and let her, and then the soup spills, creating a much bigger problem for you to take care of and you are still running late, if you manage NOT to lose your temper and say something you should not say, call me at that moment and tell me all about it, and I will give you $100."

Cenzo warned me that I should not make that bet, that I was sure to lose it one day.

"In that case, I consider it an investment in the happiness of my grandchildren."

I hope I lose that bet.

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