What a tragedy

To a two-year-old, everything is a tragedy. A lost sticker, the last sip of milk, the cat sleeping in "her" chair, and her brother drooling on her toy all provide sufficient cause for my daughter to erupt into a violent storm of tears and fury. Though I empathize with her frustration, at times I chuckle at the insignificance of the event which precipitates her tirade. If only my biggest frustrations involved drool or toys, problems I could easily remedy...

So many times, though, my anger and frustration rise over similarly insignificant events. My daughter wets the bed or deliberately spills her milk. My son spits up all over the carpet or cries when he should sleep instead. We run out of milk, or I open the cabinet and several cans fall on the floor for the third time that day. My heart begins pounding, my head aches, and my patience begins to wear very thin. Do any of these events genuinely matter in the long run?

Our compassionate Father must chuckle sometimes, wondering at our lack of perspective. Imagine losing a Son, executed for a crime he did not commit. Imagine trying to save a loved one's life, only to have that help rejected, resulting in that person's death. And I get angry over wet sheets and spit up.

As my daughter learned to say, "Mama, don't cry over spilled milk."