I nearly shouted over a missing lunchbox lid

Dear Delyara, It was not about the lid. It was the time, the rush, the fact that we were already behind, the fact that I had already packed everything else, and the fact that somehow I was still the person expected to know where every small object had gone in this house. My daughter stood there looking at me with full trust that I would fix it. And I did. I found it in the drying rack behind a pan. But the feeling stayed. That uncomfortable awareness of how little space there is between my tiredness and my tone on some mornings. I hate that. I hate how close I can get to sounding unfair over things that are really only the final straw on top of twenty invisible earlier things.