This morning I broke down.

I woke up with a terrible cold and knowing I couldn’t do the day, but I had to.

Too much has happened over the last few months for me to not wake up and be there for my boys.

Logistically: I needed to get them off to school. I needed to feed them. I needed to make sure they were alive and not sad. I knew that I could only do the bare minimum but kids demand more than that. The bare minimum as a parent is more than I could handle this morning. But I did it.

I managed to get the boys to feed themselves breakfast, get dressed and brush their teeth. We were almost out the door on time.

I dried their painted socks they prepared to wear for spirit week. I made a huge mess in my mom’s dryer and then they wore other socks without even thinking of the ones they made last night.

I blew my nose, took Ibuprofen and helped my youngest zip up his coat. He blew in my face trying to be silly and spit all over me. It was too much, I stepped back with a yell, startled and he melted on the floor, crying. I worked to console him, while trying to make it clear what he did was not okay, but not as bad as he thought.

My oldest was already trying to get through the door with his trombone and backpack and a second bag of books. He always has a second bag of stuff with him. Stuff means a lot to him, they are his things, his loves. He was in the way.

We were standing on the tiny landing trying to get out the door with one kid melting and the other hitting me with his trombone. We all felt trapped. Trapped in a space that isn’t ours, in a life that doesn’t feel like ours anymore, on a damn landing that was too small for all three of us, the bag of books, and the trombone. We couldn’t get out.

We finally made it out to the car.

I blew my nose, took a deep breath and got in to try to make it school without melting down myself.

I sucked back tears and tried to listen to some music. I tried my favorites at first, but then turned to some cheery holiday tunes to try and cheer everyone up. It didn’t work.

Oldest out of nowhere asked why I keep forgetting to buy the book I promised him and why I haven’t fixed the boomerang he broke this summer. That was six months ago, but he remembers. It was not the time.

I melted down.

I asked him to let me make mistakes and tried to help him understand how hard it is to parent and that I’m doing my best. Begging a 10 year old to trust you doesn’t work. He got quiet.

I hope he heard some of what I said.

I squeezed his knee, hoping that honesty would help build the trust I so desperately need back from him.

We took the rest of the 10 minute drive to school with me sniffling, the boys silent, and Mariah Carey singing All I Want for Christmas. Mariah didn’t help like she usually does.

I pulled off the side of the road by school, out of the drop off line. I couldn’t bear to send them off to school without a final hug and hope. I got them both out of the car, helped my oldest get his coat on correctly, he was having a hard time, obviously worked up from the ride. I got him zipped up, looked at him. Explained how much I loved him and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

I got my youngest in his gloves and hat. It was colder than we expected. Zipped up his backpack after he hopped around and almost lost everything, then gave him a big squeeze, looked him in the eyes and said I love you, and kissed him on the cheek.

I sent them off, walking together, hoping they would be okay.

I hope they will make it and that every little moment of trying will help us rebuild. I hope that seeing me cry and me talking about it will help them understand. There’s always hope but it’s hard to grasp that things will get better when you are stuck on the landing with a trombone, a cold, and a melting six year old.