I reheated my tea three times and never really drank it

Dear Delyara, I made the tea at 7:10 this morning and finally poured it away at 10:40. That is not because I am wasteful. It is because I am a mother, and in this house my own small comforts are always the first thing interrupted and the last thing completed. The first time it went cold, my son couldn’t find his PE socks. The second time, the school app sent a message about a last-minute costume thing for next week. The third time, my husband asked if I had seen the car insurance paper. None of these things were terrible. That’s what makes them so powerful. They are small enough to sound silly when listed, and constant enough to slowly train your body to understand that your own needs can always wait one more minute. By the time I finally stood at the sink holding that lukewarm mug, I felt oddly sad about it. Not because of tea. Because I am tired of seeing my own care arrive in fragments and disappear in duty before it reaches me properly.