I nearly cried because the potatoes took too long

Dear Delyara, Everything that evening was slightly harder than it should have been. The children were louder, the kitchen was messy, I was already tired from work, and then the potatoes just refused to become soft quickly enough to fit the mood I needed from the night. I kept stabbing them with a knife like somehow my impatience would cook them faster. Nothing was wrong, exactly. That was the problem. It wasn’t a crisis. It was just one more small delay in a day already made of too many small delays, and I had no emotional padding left around ordinary inconvenience. So yes, for a minute, I was a woman standing in her kitchen feeling tears over potatoes.