I am not one for freaking out over nothing. I will get a ramped up heart when a mouse goes skirting across the corner of my vision like anyone else, and I will lose my temper when the house looks like an air strike is the best option, but that’s not my go to answer.

So this morning when I got up at five to get two boys off to a ten mile hike, I was prepared, calm as a cucumber, if a little tired. We got breakfast made, last minute items collected, and the biggest boys out the door by the time dad got in the shower.

At that moment I was certain I could get anything done.


But then, as so often happens, things started moving at an inhuman pace. The others all woke up.

Addy had a raging ear infection which had swollen her jaw. She needed three kinds of medicine, none of which she wanted. Our special needs guys all wanted to eat, but needed to dress, so they were unreasonable. Ben used the chaos to demand video games. Dad needed to leave, but hadn’t eaten, so his words were harsher than normal.

And I started to break down.

“Come on just drink the medicine. I’ll give you a pop cycle.”

But inside I was screaming. Once dad left the room with his own placations, I calmed for a moment and talked her into the yucky medicine followed by the yummy one, and negotiate on the third later. I went to start pancakes, which I had already mixed and made for the boys gone on the hike, so no default to cereal for the littles.

But the first one cracked, breaking into three pieces because I was impatient with a cold pan, and I lost it.

I swore at the pan, snapped at the kids, and burst into tears.

This is not the kind of mom I want to be.

This is not the kind of day I wanted it to be.

I’m too tired already and it’s 7 am.

I tossed the ruined pancake on a plate, and shut the pan off. Dad settled Addy and I talked her into her last medicine while I assigned Ben to watch over her and the pop cycle, and find the remote, my phone will do for now, while I go back to the pancakes.

Dad goes to work.

Deep breath.

The middle boys change the laundry and sweep the floor while I heat the pan.


The next one breaks, but the third does better.

And then they start holding together. Okay back on track.




We can do this.

Addy is sleepy now. All medications on board. Everyone is dressed. We need to clean up. We can do this.

One thing at a time.

Deep breath.

One drop of awesomeness.

No one died.

I’m a good mom.

Let’s forge forward.

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