When I was six, I had one of those days. By the time the evening hit, I was worn slam out. My sister got in the front of the bathtub (a right that I attributed only to myself, since the youngest always got to go first in board games), and I went to pieces.
"This has been the worst day ever. First, the letter came that Ms. Shiels (my beloved Kindergarten teacher) isn't coming back next year. Then Reid (a neighborhood kid) hit me in the head with a ball. And now, Sherby got in the front of the bathtub."
Everything piled on top, it felt overwhelming. It was just too much. That's kind of how I feel a lot these days: like one thing after another gets piled on and I'm stuck trying not to get buried beneath the rubble.
But when it feels like too much, I remember that there are plenty of good days up ahead. And somehow no matter how much good stuff gets piled together, it never feels like too much. :-)
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