I made breakfast, packed bags, and still forgot my own keys upstairs

Dear Delyara, That was the tone of the morning from the beginning. One child couldn’t find a sock, the other needed money for school, the dog wanted to go out exactly when toast was burning, and my husband was asking if I’d seen the letter from the bank. I kept moving, solving, remembering, answering, smoothing. Then when everyone was finally by the door and the rush looked nearly under control, I realised my own keys were still upstairs. I ran back for them and felt that odd private collapse that happens when you have been carrying the whole machine of morning and still manage to forget the one thing that belongs directly to you. I know it wasn’t a disaster. It still touched something deeper than inconvenience.