Did you know that garages can be stuffed with more than just tools? They can hold surprises more complex than a simple fix. I learned this the hard way when I accidentally backed my car into the garage door—thankfully, my vehicle escaped unscathed, but the door didn’t fare as well. In that moment, I wished for someone like Doc McStuffins to lend a hand. Or maybe Handy Manny would have been the better choice for this repair job.
I envisioned Handy Manny, decked out in his iconic yellow gloves, confidently saying, “Si puedo arreglar garajes.” But in reality, all I could do was throw my hands up in frustration and surrender to the chaos of the day.
It was one of those days—the kind where everything spirals into a chaotic mess, far worse than the usual toddler tantrums I tackle daily. While I was busy with my two-year-old, my seven-month-old was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing. Suddenly, my older daughter raised her hand, ready to deliver a strike to her little sister, grinning with mischief. That familiar twinkle in her eye screamed, “Mama, I’m up to no good.”
“Don’t you dare!” I shot back, giving her the classic ‘don’t mess with me’ look. She had already hit her sister the day before, so I knew her threats were serious. In response, she darted away, retreating to the closet as if we were playing hide-and-seek—except I had no intention of seeking her out.
Moments later, she emerged from her hiding spot, charging at her sister like a tiny warrior, delivering a swift slap to the baby’s head. That was my breaking point. I yanked the pumps from my bra and dashed after her. It was like a twisted game of Wack-A-Mole—except the mole was my baby’s head!
I felt my inner Hulk emerge, and I swiftly scooped her up, placing her in time-out. As I ranted like a lunatic, the sound of my baby’s cries echoed through the house, a constant reminder of my failure to protect her. Sadness washed over me, and I felt utterly helpless. It was exhausting navigating the mind games of motherhood—the unyielding will of my toddler versus my desperate need for peace.
I wept as I stroked my baby’s soft hair, overwhelmed by the weight of my perceived failures as a mom. I questioned my ability to protect both my daughters in a world that can often feel so harsh. Looking into my baby’s big brown eyes, I felt defeated. I knew that my toddler’s behavior was typical, yet it was hard not to take it personally.
After putting the baby down for a nap, I was still consumed by anger—anger at myself, at her, at the entire situation. Later, as we headed to a playdate, I loaded my girls into the car, still simmering.
I pressed the garage remote, glanced in the rear-view mirror, and caught sight of my toddler happily sucking on her WubbaNub while the baby cooed at her mobile. My mind raced with anxious thoughts: my toddler is adorable, but why does she act like a little monster? Should I consider getting the baby a helmet for protection? Then, with a loud crash, I realized I had pressed the garage remote twice, causing the door to stop halfway. Great.
As I stepped out to assess the damage, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. In the journey of parenthood, there will be days that leave you feeling like you’ve smashed the garage—both literally and figuratively. You hit your breaking point, questioning everything you’ve done. Yet, the next day often brings a fresh perspective, with your toddler showing kindness instead of aggression. You might witness them hugging you tightly, whispering sweet nothings, or comforting a friend at school who is upset.
The scars from the previous day may linger, but they will heal. Similarly, your bruised feelings and even the garage door will be fixed in time. The heartache of motherhood often gives way to joy, and after a good cry, the sun will shine again.
Tomorrow will be better. Just like a rainbow appears after a rainstorm, brighter days are often just around the corner.
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