My friend, Chris, is a truly gifted massage therapist.  Packing up to leave my house yesterday, she gripped her retractable table under one arm and carried a large,  L.L. Bean type tote in the other.  I asked if I could help with the door.  “Nope.  I’m used to this,” she explained.  “I’m in pack mule mode.”

I, too, am familiar with pack mule mode, and, while in it, I tend not to ask for help.  I assume that I’m more capable – though admittedly also more uncomfortable due to the weight I’m hefting – than those who might come to my aid.  Rather than risk a total screw-up or waste precious time, I’ll juggle 5 grocery bags, my son’s knapsack, soccer cleats, car/house keys, and my daughter’s sippy cup.

I could easily ask my daughter to carry her own sippy cup, but my fear is she’ll spill it (gasp), hopping from the car to the front door.  I could ask my son to carry his own knapsack and cleats (sometimes I do), but this time I just can’t handle seeing them strewn about the kitchen floor, like litter leaked from a garbage bag.

I have created this world. Make no mistake. This is my story and my belief about my kids and my life.  The arrogance of my ego astounds.  I see the relentless unwillingness to surrender my will.  I simply refuse, claiming to have everyone’s “best interest” at heart.  Hah.  I might’ve bought that gold-plated lie a couple years ago but not anymore.  Today I stop rushing like there’s a moment more important than the one I’m experiencing.  Today I take a deep breath and ask for help.  Today I get a chance to show my kids what patience and humor look like on their mom.  Right here, right now.  Ahhhhhhhh.  The load is lighter already.