The first week back after the winter holidays hit like a snowball to the face.
It all started super early Monday morning—still dark, icy cold, and honestly, way too soon for anyone to be awake. My alarm went off at 5:30 AM, and it felt like betrayal. The house was freezing, the floor colder than tile in Antarctica, and getting out of bed was basically an act of bravery.
First: coffee. Always.
Then the chaos began.
Lunchboxes, water bottles, school shoes that somehow didn’t fit anymore, and one missing hockey stick. I packed lunches with numb fingers, hunted for gloves that had clearly vanished into another dimension, and finally shoved the kids out the door into a car that was covered in frost. And naturally, someone forgot their backpack just as we were pulling out of the driveway.
School didn't ease us back in—nope, it came in swinging.
Tests started Tuesday. Sports were back full-throttle.
My daughter had her first hockey match on Wednesday after school, and I stood freezing in the stands cheering her on, even though I couldn’t feel my toes. She played her heart out. Totally worth the cold.
Then came Thursday.
I was driving back after the morning drop-off, minding my own business, when—bam—a BMW slid right into me and sideswiped my right rear door. Just like that. No injuries, thank goodness, but still.
One more thing to deal with, like I didn’t already have a mile-long to-do list and a car full of cracker crumbs.
Meanwhile, Sebastian was running around the house with a permanently runny nose, leaving a trail of used tissues everywhere like some sort of gross Hansel and Gretel situation. I couldn't tell if it was just the weather or a cold, but there was no time to slow down.
And work? That didn’t pause for anything. Between Zoom meetings, client emails, and fabric samples scattered across the dining table, I was sewing, designing, managing school admin, and trying to keep the house from completely falling apart. Half the time, I was replying to work messages while stirring pasta and yelling at someone to put their cleats by the door.
Saturday was all Reinhardt. Rugby matches. All. Day. Long. Mud, scrapes, proud grins, and a pile of laundry that could’ve been declared a national emergency. I sat on the sidelines with a travel mug in one hand and my sketchpad in the other, doing my best to stay present and still sneak in a bit of work.
By Sunday night, the house looked like it had hosted a small, very enthusiastic tornado—but somehow, I’d made it. Not without frayed nerves, cold coffee, and a few dramatic sighs, but still standing.
I’m a mom, a designer, a seamstress, a full-time employee for a boss, a full-time scheduler, cheerleader, and disaster control center. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. It’s exhausting.
And it's mine.
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