[untitled]

"I know how to calm myself down," Eli tells me. "Pizza breaths."

He breathes in slowly through his nose. "Smell the pizza," he says. And then, "but it's too hot, so you have to blow on it." And he slowly exhales, blowing breath through his pouty little lips onto his imaginary slice of pizza. A little glimpse into one of the many skills he's learning at school.

It's crazy trying to get them out of the house and off to school each morning. So much harder than the last couple years, when only one kid had to be up and fed and dressed and out the door.

Today we woke up and there was toxicity in the air. Whining and fighting and yelling and rushing and I don't have any sweatpants without a hole and stop staring at me and put on your freaking shoes this second I'm not saying it again and

I don't have time for a shower so I grab a barrette and no breakfast, just my coffee and mascara to go and the phone rings and there's pain and hurt beyond my home but just this second I can't listen because we're going to be late and then get off your brother we do not wrestle in coats and backpacks and I hit my head on the piano you're the worst mom in the whole universe and I hate this family

and yeah, so do I

but I don't and either does he and we're off and driving, too fast and jerky, and I lecture and I cry and they sit quietly and then we're stuck at a stoplight for 5 minutes behind someone trying to turn left and now we're late and I have to walk them inside and I toss out a hasty but heartfelt I love you have a good day

and then I make it to the bus station with one minute to spare and as I collapse into my seat with my coffee and my bags my phone dings and it's John with a text saying

Pizza breaths. Love you.


:::

because sometimes I need to take 5 minutes and just write.