The Forty Files

The crash out happened this morning.

I took one look at my tween’s room, which can only be described as apocalyptic, and something in me snapped.

I had spent the morning running errands for my picky nine-year-old, who requested the one yogurt we did not have in the house. I ran to the store. I went to the bank. I did all of this before I had consumed a single drop of coffee.

And then came the roar.

“Why didn’t anybody help me? I can’t do this!”

Except there wasn’t even anyone nearby.

I straightened my hair while I vented to the mirror, because apparently this is how I cope now.

Of course, they heard me.

And then came the guilt.

Because sometimes the crash out isn’t about the yogurt.

Or the bedroom.

Or the bank.

Or the fact that someone has once again left seventeen things directly next to the thing they were supposed to put away.

Sometimes it’s just everything.

The noise. The mess. The questions. The requests. The constant need for someone to find something, fix something, buy something, sign something, remember something.

And then suddenly you are standing in the bathroom yelling at nobody while holding a hairbrush.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.

Because it is.

The one benefit of getting older is perspective. I know now that one bad morning is just one bad morning. That losing my patience does not make me a bad mother. That my kids can see me have a hard moment and still know they are loved.

I am also learning that sometimes you just have to let yourself have the crash out.

Feel it.

Take a breath.

Maybe cry a little.

Straighten your hair.

Drink some coffee.

And keep going.

Because tomorrow there will probably be another yogurt emergency.

And someone will definitely leave something directly in front of the thing they were supposed to put away.

And I will probably be okay.

Eventually.

P.S. I have since acquired caffeine. We are all safer now.