It was one of those mornings. Less than three hours into my day and I was in tears – irrational and largely unjustifiable tears of frustration, remorse, and self-pity.  I felt I had no right to be crying and that made me even weepier.

It was a Monday, so perhaps I should have been better prepared. Mondays offer a particular challenge for moms. Not only do we have to transition ourselves from weekend mode to weekday routine, we have to drag our kids (often kicking and screaming) along with us. The potential for crisis is high.

Take this morning. My daughter and I, both tired from the weekend, slept in a little – leaving less time to get our acts together before school. Add to that a forgotten backpack at her dad’s house, an overdue school project, running out of bread, a broken printer (needed for the school project), and a frozen computer (which choked on the images for the project) and you’ve got a recipe for mommy-on-the-edge. After a tight-lipped lecture about the responsibilities that come with being a second grader and a brief but emphatic decree that from now on we’ll be doing all homework, outfit selection, and snack packing the night before, we finally managed to get out the door and were “only” twenty-five minutes late for school.

But the fun doesn’t end there. After drop-off, I needed to get an inspection sticker and an oil change for the car. I drove to the inspection station, but – for no apparent reason and despite the fact it was scheduled to be open – it was closed. I banged a u-turn in the parking lot and headed to a garage one town over. I got the sticker and was a few minutes into my drive home when my gaslight went on.  Great. I could have gotten cheap gas at the garage where I got the sticker, but now I was halfway home, so I kept driving. I arrived at my usual gas station only to find it barricaded behind an impressive array of construction tape and sawhorses. Damn. Bang another u-turn and head back out, (sniffling all the way) past the garage where I originally tried to get my sticker (the one that was inexplicably closed) to a gas station on the other side of town. Got the gas, headed to a third garage to drop the car for the overdue oil change. Relieved to have finally made my final errand destination of the morning, I left the car and walked to my favorite coffee shop to set up my office for the day. Just as I was starting to regain my composure, I got the call from the garage that my car needed two front-end ball joints (whatever those are) that would run me about $500. Fabulous.

There are lots of things that qualify as “spilt milk” – those little annoyances that we’re not supposed to cry over. Any given day can hold temper tantrums, missed appointments, unexpected expenses, technical difficulties, and mood swings (yours or your kids’). We’re supposed to let these things roll off our backs, remember the big picture, be grateful for all the good things in our lives – healthy kids, viable employment, food on the table, a roof over our heads. After all, there are millions of people in the world less fortunate than us, and millions of daily tragedies that aren’t ours.

In theory, I agree whole-heartedly, and usually I’m able to step back, get some perspective, and find my balance. But sometimes the little things get you. They gang up on you like a pack of small but vicious beasts, nipping at your ankles, jumping on your back, and pulling your hair. On those days, it’s your prerogative to lose it. I give you permission to not only cry, but to whine, moan, and sulk. You’re a mom, not a saint. You have feelings and a breaking point. You have every right to let loose with a little wallowing. Don’t feel guilty – go ahead and cry over that spilt milk. It’s totally normal and you’ll probably feel better.

Has spilt milk ever pushed you over the edge? Did you feel guilty about losing it?