Today I went to Starbucks to waste my daily three dollars on a drink and sanity.

A car of three teenage girls tried to cut in front of me but I wasn’t having it.

They gave me dirty looks and pulled around behind me.

I was praying for one of them to get out and say something.

I had all three kids in the van.

They were whining for cookies and screaming for unwanted feet on the seat.

We had just left Chuck -E -Cheese.

I was in the perfect mindset for an all out brawl in the Starbucks parking lot.

Please God, I thought, let today be the day.

These three spoiled brats had it coming to them.

The teenage girls I mean.

But the bible and all that stuff about loving your enemies got the best of me.

I remembered my angelic husband telling me a story about a grumpy old man at Burger King.

The man was waiting in the car behind Josh and got impatient.

I can’t imagine why.

My husband is Swift, but nothing he does is.

So the man, most likely a long lost cousin of mine, started cussing and yelling at Josh to hurry up.

My husband took his time to the first window and than proceeded to buy the man breakfast.

The man was still cussing as he drove out of the parking lot.

My husband just smiled and waved.

And stories like that are the reason I married Josh.

He is so good.

And I want to be like him.

So I bought the dirty looks behind me their lattes and I headed to Wal-Mart.

If there is one place that I love to take my children it is not Wal-Mart.

It is Bill’s donuts.

If you are ever lucky enough to catch me and my three beautiful offspring at Bill’s, you will be so impressed.

My kids are amazing.

They say please. They say thank you.

They sit and spin so darling on those little circle stools.

They make endearing conversation with the elderly regulars.

The workers ooh and ahh over them.

The children gobble up their mammoth, sugar glazed, deep-fried, doughy, dough donuts.

And then we leave.

My kids are so well-behaved at the donut shop.

But Wal-Mart-

Wal-Mart with my three kids is like going to battle.

A battle that I can never win. And yet I continue to wage war.

War for my children’s hearts to grow larger than their eyes.

For their character to grow stronger than their knowledge of how to get to the next level.

For their resourcefulness to outweigh their boredom.

I fight for their creativity and their capability to live with purpose.

I want them to know that life is about more than being entertained.

I wage war against the power of meaninglessness.

I am bold and fierce and I’ve got the scars to prove it.

I said no.

No to that thirty dollar stuffed Lightning Mcqueen car that will end up in the back of the closet.

No because I am striking the Pixar people who hate parents.

Who charge insane amounts for all things “Cars” just because they can.

I said no.

No to that ginormous doll that creeps me out because only in America are babies that big.

No to paying six dollars for that greeting card that plays the chicken dance when you open it.

No because a little rectangle that plays that song over and over again is like another version of hell.

I said no.

And I have the scars to prove it.

In the checkout line, my three year old screaming and snotting and trying to climb out.

My four year old running away from me into carts and old, angry mothers who’ve forgotten what it’s like.

My six year old arguing economics like he’s the president of America.

Like all you need to do is go to the bank and they’ll give you money.

I said no.

But I don’t really want to.

I want to raise the white flag in surrender.

I want to go to Bills and eat sugar dough for the rest of our lives.

I want to be the nice, fun, easy-going, happy mom.

I am tired of being the enemy.

But instead I drive home with three ungrateful children, and turn the music up and over their complaints.

I try to drown them out along with the feeling I am always trying to avoid.

I don’t like my children.

They are nasty, dirty, clingy, spoiled, rude, selfish little leeches sucking me dry.

Something is seriously wrong with them.

Or me.

When Josh pulls in the driveway Savannah runs out to meet him and he almost runs her over.

He can tell by the look in my eye where I stand. Where he stands. He hugs me.

Tells me he can’t imagine what my days been like.

I tell him congratulations. He’s finally figured out the correct response.

And then we get the mail and go inside.

And we find ourselves a letter from our son David.

In the letter, he tells us all the things he is thankful for. Something his teacher had him do.

But it feels like something God had him do.

Like God knows what my day was like. Like He has a heart for moms like me.

He knew that I just needed a little thanksgiving.

A little proof that I am not the enemy, I am the mom who is choosing her battles.

Some battles are worth fighting.

Some are worth lattes.

And too many donuts will make you fat…