It Started With a Toilet Seat: A Mom’s Guide to Quitting the Day

Yesterday, I gave up around 3 p.m.

As soon as I woke up, I knew it was going to be a fight. I knew it the moment I went to use the downstairs bathroom and the toilet seat snapped off the hinge.

One of my kiddos crawled into my bed to cuddle, which can only mean one thing with this one: his bed was wet. I got up to strip the sheets and throw them in the laundry. Figured I’d get a jump-start on the day.

The laundry from last night had never drained. Drain and rinse cycle initiated.

The kids who were up were on the louder side, and some forgot how to be independent today. Parents were texting to schedule playdates, friends were texting to make plans, and I was already too overwhelmed for any of it. Not all the kids were even awake yet.

I hadn’t even brewed a cup of coffee.

I was bouncing back and forth between making coffee, shuffling out food and drinks, and preheating the oven for the sourdough I’d prepped the night before. There was a small window of time where I thought everything was going to be okay.

I sat down, opened my computer, started checking emails, and then the potty-training toddler had a number two accident.

A shower and new clothes later, I was bouncing back and forth again: the oven, the computer, the toddler, the oven, the coffee machine, the washing machine, the dishwasher, the computer, and so on.

I finally finished work when my oldest cut his knee, and it became clear we’d already used every Band-Aid in the house this summer. So off to Dollar General for a few things, all while trying to keep the toddler from releasing every single balloon to the ceiling, opening the toys, and licking all the snack bags.

We paid, we got un-licked snacks, we came home, and I made an iced coffee with the three ice cubes left in the freezer. It felt like the day was finally about to take a turn.

Then came toddler accident #2...and then #3. The toddler forgot how to use the potty today. No, not because the toilet seat was broken.

So a few more showers and a few outfits later, I added the dirty clothes to the laundry pile. The pile next to the washer that still never finished the one new cycle from this morning because it quit halfway through.

Rerun the washer.

That’s it—outside we go. Maybe the house was cursed. Something was in the air. But the air outside was hot. Sweat-dripping-from-your-skin-the-moment-you-walk-outside hot.

We tried to put the beach umbrella up, but it wouldn’t catch in the dirt. Too rocky. So we opened a new tent my mother gave us for Christmas. A simple, quick pop-up, she had said. It looked so on the box.

That was a lie.

It's a long one! Pin to save for later.

It was not simple. It was not quick. It wasn’t even the same design as the picture on the box. It had parts I still don’t understand, and apparently every single one of them mattered.

My oldest was being the best sport, trying to troubleshoot with me. My middle was minding his business, riding his scooter. My toddler was watching us closely, deciding whether or not ot jump on the mass of part. My youngest boy...

Where’s the youngest boy?

I went to check the garage, and all I saw was a bloody footprint. No, not one. A trail of them.

I followed them into the kitchen, over a rug (that was just washed), and into the bathroom, where he was standing with a paper towel pressed against a dripping bloody foot. Not sitting because...well, you remember. The toilet seat broke off.

Good thing we went to get Band-Aids.

My son had stepped on a piece of plastic in the garage while looking for treasures, as 8-year-olds do. He was also barefoot, as feral 8-year-olds are.

I got him all bandaged up and cleaned the blood trail. My oldest was watching the toddler outside, and when I came back, he said she’d been soooo good. Just standing over by the car, quietly. Didn’t make a peep.

Uh-oh. Accident #4.

Did I mention that yesterday I told my fiancé the toddler was doing so well with potty training that I was completely done with diapers?

Maybe she just likes to see me panic.

Another outfit. Another wipe-down. Time to make sure the laundry was running.

It wasn’t.

Rerun the washer. In tears. Add more to the ever-growing pile. Blood, poop, dirt, urine. Just sitting and setting, waiting their turn.

I ran the washer four times today. I only got one new load done and finally finished last night’s.

I eventually made it back outside to help my oldest put up the tent. Grunting and groaning and getting under each other's skin. Cutting my fingers on buttons that wouldn’t button, slides that wouldn’t slide, and Velcro that felt like steel.

This damn tent. Who made this tent?!!

We finally sat under all our glory. Cold drinks and a lawn chair that we found on the side of the road the other day. But it was too hot to sit. No one wanted to sit. The shade of the tent was pointless when the humidity was trying to suffocate you inside. Everyone whined to go inside.

Can’t blame them. I was whining the most.

I came inside to change into cooler clothes and realized that, somewhere in the middle of all the emergency laundry, I’d forgotten to throw in my own. I had no clothes but the ones I was wearing and pajamas.

Now I’m wearing a pajama dress at 3 p.m. And I quit.

Quitting the day is healthy

What does that mean? Am I walking away? Crawling into bed? Not really.

I typed up this whole day first to justify my decision to quit. I feel justified.

I made myself a summer drink. I asked the boys for a little space while I sat, and the toddler is in the living room reading.

Or pooping. We’ll find out.

On days like this, I feel defeated at every turn. So when I say I quit, what I really mean is I stop planning, stop starting new projects, stop trying to solve problems (until they’re an emergency), and simply react. I’m not making any sudden movements. I’m not instigating. I’m not making one more damn thing harder than it needs to be.

Now, I probably should have prefaced all of this by saying I’m having a bad PMDD cycle. For those of you who have it, you may be shocked I made it through all this. And for those of you who don’t—or don’t know what PMDD is—it can make an ordinary day feel impossible because your emotional reserves are already running on empty.

A day like this, with an unexpected problem waiting around every corner, used to completely unravel me. It could trigger rage, panic, hopelessness, and thoughts that scared me. PMDD has a way of convincing you that every inconvenience is proof that you’re failing, that you’ll never catch up, and that you simply can’t do this anymore.

Any of it.

Thankfully, I’ve grown so much through my PMDD journey that I know what to do when I’ve reached the top of my emotional cup for the day.

I quit.

Not parenting (of course), or taking care of my family, or showing up when I’m needed.

I quit trying to force myself to be productive.

I quit trying to solve every problem the second it appears.

I quit expecting myself to keep pushing when I have nothing left to give.

I 100% quit doing laundry. Pretty damn sure it’s broken.

Instead, I’m making everything easy. Easy dinner. Movie night. No more heat. No more expectations. Easy.

Years ago, I would have tried to power through until I exploded. Today, I know better. Quitting isn’t giving up. It’s choosing not to burn myself to the ground just because the day already tried to. It’s choosing to end the day with my kiddos in a positive way, where they still feel loved and wanted.

My good friend and amazing writer, Jill Robinson, has a long-standing joke in our writing group. Whenever one of us chimes in with a day that’s too chaotic, too tragic, or downright too stupid to continue—she cancels it for us.

Today is canceled.

Canceled.

Good night.

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