The Day Before Easter — or as I like to call it, Armageddon Saturday.

This morning we went as a family to an Easter egg hunt at a local church.  The Beast had been talking for days about getting eggs, so even though he still had a little bit of a runny nose, we decided to let him go.

Believe it or not, this story is not about The Beast wreaking havoc at an Easter egg hunt.  I fully expected him to knock over other toddlers or steal eggs from other kids, but he was actually adorable.  He wanted to stop and open each egg before he put it in his basket. It was cute and sweet and I should have known it was an omen of doom.

On the way home we let The Beast have a piece of chocolate.  We really wouldn’t have cared if he had more under normal circumstances, but he refused to eat his breakfast this  morning so I didn’t want him to consume a ton of sugar on an empty stomach because I had no desire to clean chocolate bunny vomit out of the van.

In addition to the chocolate, The Beast also decided to eat the foil wrapper it came in.  I have no idea how much of the wrapper he ate, but I’ll likely find shiny blue foil in his diaper over the next few days.

As usual, none of that has any bearing on the actual point of this post.  Although, perhaps The Beast’s supervillain powers are somehow strengthened by consuming aluminum foil because when we got home he unleashed the first apocalyptic fit of the day.

He refused to eat his lunch and wanted more candy.  When he kept refusing we finally just decided to put him down for a nap.  It took more than an hour of him screaming, hitting the door and just generally being awful before he finally fell asleep.

Virginia Slims Man had a few errands to run, so he left.  I did a little baking and The Good One watched T.V. and cut open key limes for me.

It was suddenly a beautiful day.  The previous fit was now a memory and it was a day of joy and peace and quiet and hope, just what you want the day before you celebrate the resurrection of your Savior to be.

And then Satan decided he had had quite enough of watching us be happy and opted to unleash Armageddon.

(I’m pretty sure my theology is all jacked up here.  I have no idea who unleashes Armageddon.  Or if it’s even an unleashable thing.  Feel free to assume all of my theological imagery is wrong.)

So, The Beast woke up and immediately wanted candy.  I had saved his sandwich from earlier and told him that he couldn’t have any treats until he ate his sandwich.

Well, that was not what he wanted to hear and he voiced his displeasure by screaming, “I DON’T WANT A SANDWICH!” as loud as he possibly could.  I recently read an article that said to ignore kids when they throw a tantrum because it’s all about getting attention, so that’s what I did.

He kept screaming at me.  He screamed at me that he wanted an applesauce, and then when I handed him the applesauce he screamed that he didn’t want applesauce.

When I asked The Good One to keep an eye on him while I went to pee (Yes, I said pee.  We’re friends now.  You know I pee and I know I pee.  Deal with it.), The Beast screamed, “NO, MOMMY, YOU DON’T GO PEE!”

Then he started banging on my bedroom door and begging me to put him back in his seat so he could eat his sandwich.

I calmly put him in his seat and started to remove the sandwich from the sandwich bag, and he started screaming, “NO, MOMMY, YOU DON’T TAKE SANDWICH OUT OF THE BAG!”

When I picked up my phone, he screamed, “NO, MOMMY, YOU DON’T TOUCH BUTTONS!”

He threw his plate at me, but I’m totally used to that so it really didn’t bother me.  And I was so proud of myself because I remained completely calm throughout this entire verbal and physical assault which lasted (no exaggeration) for over an hour.

And then, in one final burst of chocolate-bunny-foil-fueled anger, he screamed that he wanted his applesauce back, and when I handed it to him, he threw it at me.

And that’s when I lost it.  I know that’s when I lost it because I saw the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse gallop down our street.

I picked up the applesauce and hurled it angrily into the sink.  I grabbed the still-wrapped sandwich, pounded it with my fist and threw it in the garbage can.

The Beast started screaming that he wanted his sandwich and applesauce and tried to get them out of the garbage can.  I told him that he was not getting any food until dinnertime because he had his lunch in front of him for over an hour and refused to eat.

The Beast started begging for his sandwich, but I knew this was just a power play and that there was no way he was going to eat, so I again told him no and that’s when he picked up the step stool and hit me with it…twice.

I could feel the anger overtaking me.  I was pretty sure my eyes were going to blow completely out of their sockets from the rage.  I could not take the screaming for one minute longer and I called VSM and told him he needed to get home NOW!

The screaming didn’t stop.  It just got louder, and I knew that I was on the verge of a complete breakdown, so I told The Good One to watch The Beast and I went outside on the front porch and cried.

After a few minutes, I knew I was calm enough not to beat anyone with a skillet and went back in the house.  The Beast was still screaming. The Good One, being the sweet boy that he is, told me to go to my bedroom and rest, but I could no longer in good conscience allow him to play parent.

So I went into the kitchen, followed by the screaming Beast, put my head on the counter and prayed for my husband to get home quickly, and then like a miracle, he walked in the door.

Take that, Satan.  (I probably shouldn’t say that.  It sounds like I’m taunting Satan.  I know I screw up a lot of my theology but I know that no good can come from taunting Satan.)

I went and sat on the front porch and cried some more and then I drank a margarita to make myself feel better.

I’m not an alcoholic, but I think I would like to be.

The Beast’s name, which we put a lot of thought into, means “Who resembles God.”

Boy, did I jack that one up.

The Beast and me in a happier moment, before Satan popped popcorn and sat in his recliner in hell to watch the show. And the orange thing in my pocket is a package of Boogie Wipes. I just don't want you to think that's my underwear.

P.S.  Please tell me I’m not the only mother who’s had to leave the house so that she didn’t skillet (That’s now a verb.  Use it.) her child.

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31 thoughts on “The Day Before Easter — or as I like to call it, Armageddon Saturday.

  1. Ughhhhhh I’m sure if I was a parent, I would let the good child parent the evil child ALL the time. And I was drink way more than you. And use all kind of kitchen weaponry.

  2. I am happy reinforcements are on their way. Enjoy mom being there so you can pee and not skillet your child. And trust me we all have wanted to do it.

  3. When I feel that burning-eye-socket-rage coming on I think of a line from Tina Fey’s Bossypants: “I cried. I cried like a three year old who just wants to take her toy cash register into the tub.” It a) puts a smile on my face and dissipates the anger and b) reminds me that THEY ARE THE CRAZY ONES, not us. 😀 I’m pretty sure that line has saved me from doing something I’d regret, because we have some mighty heavy skillets in this house.

  4. LOVE skillet as a verb! Not only are you not alone, I’m able to read your post because I’m hiding in the garage and had just enough sanity left in my head to remember to bring my phone with me when I left. Thanks, this came just at the right time!

  5. I have three children. Ages 10, 6, and 2. I have skillet moments multiple times a day. I read your blog often and I have to say I’m slightly jealous that you only have one that you call “Beast”. I have three. The First Beast, the Blonde Beast and the She Beast. All I know is there IS a God who gave them a very calm Daddy to counterbalance their insane mother who, just wants them to do what I said the FIRST time without any lip OR asking why they have to do it FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY IN THE WORLD! WHY can’t they just do that!?

    Seriously, sometimes it’s all I can do to not grab them by their feet and swing them in circles and make sure they hit their head on every single wall nearby. Of course I would never do this but ohhhhh sometimes they just drive me to drinking…A LOT! However this is a catch twenty-two (what is that anyway?) because when I drink I get the mother of all headaches the next day and I have even less patience. There has GOT to be some way for parents of young children to survive. Valium, maybe???

  6. We had Saturday issues, too. In our case, I blame the road trip to Nana and Papa’s paired with an entire cupcake plus icing. She was crazed. In any event, it’s a great thing when the older child can keep the younger child relativity safe for small periods of time!

  7. I have recently been harassed on my blog for how often I want to skillet my 2 year old and how I call my husband in so I can cry in a corner. Seriously, my oldest and The Beast have GOT to be in cahoots (yes, I am 80 for using the word cahoots), because I felt like I was reading “A Day in the Life of ME”.

    Thank GOD I found you.

    Now I don’t feel so alone in my wishing to be alcholicness. Yeah, I can make up words too. What?

    • I cannot believe people are harassing you for being a normal mother. It’s so awesome that they are perfect and can point out our imperfections. Want me to skillet them for you?

  8. I’m still crying, and my Littlest is 8! (Not because of him, he’s another Good One, but because of the Demon Teen from Hell and her sister, Demon Deux.) Demon Deux was exactly like the Beast, screaming non-stop, straight from birth for 28 LONG months. The only time she didn’t scream was when she was sleeping.

    When I’m crying, the only thing that makes me feel better (besides alcohol?) The thought that someday, SOMEDAY they will go off to college.

  9. Oh, no, you are not alone. I could’ve written a post similar to this about my second daughter. She is the one who pushes (and pushes and pushes and pushes) until my calm demeanor snaps. It’s gotten better — she’s 5 now — but we had some seriously rough patches.

  10. I have found in extreme duress, if you actually cry in front of the child, and they know they are the reason for the tears, they will sit there, slack-jawed, usually come to a dead stop and often offer comfort. I don’t think they realize that Mommies can have a meltdown, too.

  11. You are NOT the only one! I used to keep a reinforced (good straps) highchair on the patio that I would strap my youngest into and leave her there – for 5 minutes or so. while she cried/screamed on the patio (or in the garage if the weather was bad) and I cried in the bathroom.
    I don’t know a mother who, at some point, has not wanted to skilet her child. If there was an anti-skilleting self help book, I am sure Barnes and Noble would have it….maybe we should write one.

  12. You are not the only one. I have no kids, and the REASON I have no kids was because I am a recipient of the “Mother’s Curse.” The one she gave me after a day much like the one you describe, when she finally looked me in the eyes with tongues of flame shooting out of her eye sockets and said “When you grow up, I hope that you have a kid JUST like you!” Once I became old enough to have kids, I realized just how evil that curse was, and have vowed to never have kids so that I can escape the curse!

    • The curse is incredibly powerful. Almost supernaturally powerful. I have yet to use it as I need to save it for the perfect moment, but I can feel in my bones that that day is coming.

      • Oh, I used the mother’s curse on our 4 year old today — HRH. “I hope you have a child just like you. And I hope SHE’S A GIRL!”

        And my DH is refusing to install a pot rack in the kitchen now for fear of drive-by skilletings

    • My daughters were late elementary school (college now), were being horrible. I finally said to them, “When you grow up, I hope you have two kids . . just.like.you.” They both immediately stopped being horrible, and started crying “That is the meanest thing ever! Why would you say that to us??!!” So funny!

  13. Wow! You are good! I would have spanked that diapered bottom on the first applesauce!!! In my culture we would call it “chancletar” or in English “to flip-flop”. When I was a kid the biggest fear was that your mom would take that flip-flop off wherever she was, grocery store, doctors office, whatever! And smack you on the back of the thighs! I feel you sister, no judging here…

  14. My friend suggested that I read your blog. I just finished your easter post….I loved it. Iqu don’t want you to take it wrong because I have been through that insanity before. I have a 3chiropractic year old that can be equallyhave as awful. It just makes me feel better that there are other moms out there going through the same stuff. I just feel like some other parents don’t experience the level of tantrums that my so can escalate to… thank you for writing this. I’ll keep reading.

  15. Pingback: Posts That Made Me Go BOOM! | Sluiter Nation

  16. I just stumbled across your blog and it’s hilarious! I don’t have any children but The Beast reminds me of myself, or what I’ve heard anyway. I always threw tantrums over pretty much anything and my mom referred to me as the beast. Grandma objected to this reference until she had to babysit me… If it’s any consolation I grew out of tantrum throwing (for the most part) around age 7. I’m 16 now and as teenagers go I’m not bad, but I still have my moments. Hang in there! 🙂

  17. oh god Love ya! I have two mini beasts, yes two! the same age! the same smiles, same cheeky blue eyes, but worst of all the same satanic,eyeball popping,skillety wielding,double teaming,beastliest kids too! I have cried(infront of them aswell) and i have ignored(not possible when theres one in each room,did i mention i have 3 rooms downstairs,dunno how they do it??!)i have also walked out on them and very nearly out of the street(would never do that of course as there are so many reasons i cannot think of right now as a mum that im not supposed to do that).none of the fore mentioned ever work or are likely ever to work and as a mother of the “twice as nice” pair(ahem) i would just like to say, if you ever feel anything like crazy or crying when The beast is in full Beast mode, just have a laugh on me(i would) the most definately crazy mother of two mini beasts(i mean,just imagine Beast pulling on your arm to get something totally innapropriate to eat from the”sweetie”(or MY) cupboard and another pulling your leg complaing that he’s lost his feather that he found 3 days ago and has slept with every night since!AGAIN(and yes,OCD compensated for,the feather got an antibacterial soaking that would make you proud) and make sure you laugh loud and be glad you have only one pair of hands to restrain(tag teaming is becomming the norm in our house)ahhh my little angels(she says through smiling gritted teeth of course) love very tierd and happy/demented twinmummy2010 xxxx

  18. When my son was 3, his dad and I divorced, so he was dealing with that, my new house, and a new daycare. For just a few short months of hell, I would have to lock myself in the bathroom for both of our safety… It was scary bad. Thank God it only lasted that long. Every parent goes through these phases, and if they say they don’t, they are liars, liars, pants on fire!

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