Sometime just before 8 p.m. I rushed through the door of my mother’s house to pick up my three children. I was supposed to be there two hours ago, but remember what kind of a day this was. I was not prepared for the hungry mob that greeted me.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll stop for something to eat on the way home.” This announcement was met with unbridled enthusiasm—all out screaming, jumping, happy kids. “Guys, I said dinner, not Disney World.” But apparently fast food ranks right up there with Mickey Mouse.
I should clarify by saying that before today, drive-through windows and Happy Meals were things my children had only seen on TV. I am the kind of mom who makes her kids eat their vegetables and drink their milk every night. Greasy paper bags filled with French fries and little plastic toys were never an option.
But after a sixteen-hour day with no end in sight, and my hungry mob demanding to be fed, I broke down and hit the nearest drive-through. As I pulled away and handed over the goods, I felt guilty for giving in to my exhaustion. I was busy silently beating myself up when my five-year-old son said, “Thanks, Mom. Today was the best day ever!” I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard in my entire life.