Fourteen years ago, I was in the thick of it…five kids under six.

Two were just ten months apart. One had classic autism (level 3).

Every meal felt like a battlefield, me at the center, clutching a fork like a soldier holding the last line of defense.

Ten little hands would creep across the table, grabbing whatever was on my plate.

Never mind that their own plates were full my food was somehow better.

Before “mom hacks” were trending on TikTok, I stumbled on my own survival tactic:

give the kids my plate, and quietly eat off theirs.

It was a decoy, a diversion, and it worked. For ten blessed minutes, I could actually chew my food before it went cold.

I didn’t know it then, but I was teaching myself something bigger than a hack. I was learning that sometimes survival in motherhood comes in tiny, clever adjustments that no one else notices.

Tonight, more than a decade later, that old lesson showed up again, in the smallest, strangest way.

I was in bed yes, the same bed we share with our almost-three-year-old,working on my next book, snacking on a bag of pretzels. Not just any pretzels… Italian-seasoned Gardetto’s pretzels.

If you know, you know it’s the  absolute gold piece in the bag.

She climbed up next to me and asked, “What are you doing?”

I figured she wanted one, so I told her, “Go ahead, baby.”

Her tiny hand reached in and carefully picked a single pretzel. She lit up like she’d just found treasure.

For the next five minutes, she kept asking, “Are you done with your pretzels, Mommy?”

At first, I thought maybe I was crunching too loudly or holding the bag in a way that bothered her.

Finally, I said, “Yes, baby, I’m done.”

She beamed  seriously beamed, grabbed the bag, and declared,

“You’re the best mommy ever!”

And that’s when it hit me:

She had been sitting there, the whole time, waiting.

As much as she wanted them, she didn’t take them until she knew I was done. Until she was sure I was happy first.

That’s grace.

It’s not always grand or poetic.

It’s not a Hallmark movie moment or a sweeping gesture.

Sometimes, grace is just a little girl holding herself back for the person she loves.

It’s patience we didn’t even know they had.

And sometimes, grace looks like a bag of pretzels, a quiet moment at the end of a long day, and the reminder that love,real love, is willing to wait