I stood out on the porch with a cigarette in one hand and dialed the phone with the other. When my mom picked up I said, "I'm just not cut out for this."
All three children in diapers, husband out busting his buns trying to keep it together, houseful of un-met priorities, and crying. Crying, whining, complaining, needing - and that was me! I was at my wits' end.
I laid out my case for why someone would have to come rescue me from this clearly devastatingly bad choice I'd made. I was no mother.
She listened patiently and then on the beach filled with grains of excellent advice my mother has given me over the years, she laid this, "Of course you are. Just do the best you can. Don't think about the whole thing. Just handle this minute, if necessary, this second. Get past this one and go on to the next one and do the best you can with what you've got. That's it. That's the job."
She was right, of course, as she always is, I've come to find.
Do good, do your best. That's all you can do. That's the job. And it's great.