One of those days.

I woke up in the dark, to the sound of rain smashing down on the roof. I remember there’s a rainfall warning in effect.

I quietly head downstairs. Pour some coffee, check my phone. The first thing I read is that Gord Downie has died. It takes a moment to register. Then it feels like a punch in the gut. As the media said… we knew it was coming, that doesn’t make his passing easier. We lost a man who was the voice of my Canadian generation.

We chaotically get out the door. It’s wet and dreary; we all bicker and fight over trivialities, but we get to school, walk the dog. The usual. Exhale.

I get to work. I’m underdressed, it’s snowing. Hard. I spend the day feeling cold, kind of foggy.

I hustle out of the office with the intent of getting home, spending some cozy time with the kids, sneaking in a workout. Dinner and a glass of wine, maybe.

I drive 300 meters down the road, then sit at a standstill for 45 minutes, thanks to the unexpected snowstorm. It takes just under 2 hours to make the 38km trip.

I walk in the door, I’m greeted by a sea of wet coats, boots and bags. That’s ok, I think. They’re home, I’m home. Let the cozy times begin.

Cozy times don’t happen. The kids are amped. I’m tired, feeling both lethargic and frazzled. I don’t want to make dinner. I feel overwhelmed by everything and nothing in particular. I offer our usual Mile One, if they promise to bring homework. I plan on leaving the phone at home. Family time.

We’re at the door when we discover that yet another jacket has been carelessly left somewhere, never to be seen again.

Rationally, I know it’s just stuff. But oh, the proverbial straw and camel.

…

It’s been about 45 minutes since they put themselves to bed, after they made themselves dinner because I quit. Threw my hands up and declared myself done. 

You could say I had a hissy fit. Because I basically did.

And now I feel like a petulant brat. I want to go get their warm, sleeping little bodies, pile them into my bed, hold them close. I want to erase the last 4 hours. I feel regret for my words, my stubbornness. I feel that nagging mom guilt.

Instead, I’ll quietly go kiss them and whisper that I’m sorry. I hope they hear me.

Tomorrow will be better. It’s got to be. I will be.