My daughter is distraught. Her pants are too long because they go all da way down to her shoes. (Insert wail here. And tears. Big alligator tears.)

I dressed her this morning and the moment she saw the pants she started crying. I am talking splayed spread eagle on the floor like a bug plastered to a windshield while gasping and crying. Immediately She hiked them up to her knees before she would walk to the car-All the while complaining of being cold. Trying to reason with a 4 year old is about as pointless as trying to reason with a 12 year old.

She whined all the way to school about da long pants. By the time we made the 6 mile trek she had pulled and rolled and manipulated her floor length pants into booty shorts. The teacher on car door duty was appalled. She wasn’t the only one.

I picked her up from school 10 hours later and the the first thing out of her mouth…yep…she hates her pants. Trying to convince her she’s snug and warm was futile. She begged for tights or leggings or anything but da pants. . “Let it go” I thought but had the sense not to say it aloud least she launch into song. Thanks Elsa and Anna.

Making our way across the dark parking lot on the UGA campus I hear,”mama-wait” and her little hand slips from mine. I thought she’d dropped her toy bag or needed to zip her coat. Nope. She has to hike up her pants so that they were over her knees. It’s 34 degrees and pitch black but we are going to stop in the middle of the road to make capris or Bermudas out of pants. Holy mother.

Watching diving lessons I once again hear,”mmmmoooommmmmmmm,” the number of syllables is in direct proportion to her displeasure. The pants have slipped and are covering her shoes. Flip the switch folks we are going to defcom 5. Moments later she had them hiked back up. I snapped a photo as proof of the crazy.

My day started off with seriously irritating and disappointing news. Before 7:30 I had a daughter melting down, had cried off my recently applied eye makeup, had a $600 knot in my stomach, had already been reminded how different “doing the right thing is defined and had seriously considered going back to bed and hiding under the covers. For about 10 years.

I didn’t go back to bed. Instead I fed 3 kids warm breakfast, got all
3 out of the house at house at an almost respectable time and managed to almost dress myself in matching clothes.

I got to work almost on time. I hid my tears and put on my big girl panties and jumped right into a call from another country that had been scheduled to provide assistance with-pause for a highly technical term here-big &@@ computer issue. That call didn’t go so well. I started with 1 potential disaster but got off the phone with 2 more.

Hang on-there is a point.

The point is that a 5 year old being broken hearted that her pants touched her shoes is not the most absurd part of my day. Sadly. My point is that this day almost got the best of me. Almost being the most important word of that sentence. I didn’t quit. I didn’t give up-not on the pants or the computer issues.

Instead I called myself out for my tendency to over react. I reached out to friends who responded sympatherically with a DAMN GIRL but then offered wise and crucial advice. I made them laugh and they validated my right to be me. I ranted and raved and cursed for exactly 10 Minutes and then I got back to business.

My daughter wore her long pants. My new application system took my application. I admitted my limitations and let go of things I can’t control (sort of). And I reached out to find a hug when I needed one. Today I handled the absurd. Take that Tuesday.


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