This morning started with a luxurious 2.5 hours of sleep because I stayed up way too late illustrating my next book.

Enter: the panicked teenage phone call.

Her ride to practice wasn’t arranged. Today’s the “big run-through.” She cannot miss it. Cue me, stumbling out the door like a zombie on a mission, carting a sleeping Harper to the car, whispering a prayer she stays asleep.

Spoiler: she didn’t.

Next thing I know, I’m stuck in high school parking lot traffic with a wide-awake toddler demanding I play Winnie the Pooh and Barbies… before the sun is even fully up. Meanwhile, my brain is so fried I’m not sure I can still spell my own name.

I didn’t forget my pants today, so that’s a win.

My sanity? That’s still sitting in the high school parking lot, weeping quietly next to a dented Gatorade bottle.

Coffee is now a medical necessity, my illustrations are not cooperating, I have no clue what’s for dinner, and the only thing I’ve accomplished is getting the sprinklers on in time.

When did chaos start hitting before sunrise?

Oh, right — the day I became a mom.

At this point, I’m confident I could solve an international crisis in under 12 minutes, blindfolded, while packing lunches. Twenty-two years of parenting done, only sixteen more to go.

Pray for me. And send coffee