Yesterday humbled me.

It started at 3 AM with thunder, the kind that rattles windows and souls. My big baby, La Lady—our German Shepherd who thinks she’s fearless except when it storms—melted down. And I stayed up with her, because love doesn’t clock out when you’re exhausted.

But life doesn’t pause either.

I had promised my stepdaughter a movie and dinner. Lilo & Stitch. I bought the tickets in advance. I was running on fumes, but I didn’t want to let her down—especially knowing how seriously she takes promises. So I pushed through. Movie? Done. Dinner? Pushed through even harder. And that’s where everything began to fray.

I was too tired to enjoy the moment. I was quiet. I was withdrawn—my default setting when I’m running low on everything. My stepdaughter asked her dad, “What is she getting?” while I was right there. I didn’t snap. I’ve learned that raising your voice doesn’t raise understanding. I calmly explained that it’s rude to talk about someone in front of them, and she should feel free to ask me directly. Her dad sighed, annoyed. I stared right back—tired but standing firm—and taught the lesson anyway.

She adjusted. She began addressing me. Respectfully. Calmly. Growth happened.

And then the chaos of sugar and siblinghood kicked in. Play got too rough. Someone got smacked. I intervened, again. I gave context and care, again. Physical play is something I have talked to my stepdaughter about plenty of times. She’s older in age and in stature. Her strength comes with responsibility, especially around her younger brother. But she get’s uncomfortable when I put ownership of their fights mostly on her, as the older sibling who should set a good example. So at the restaurant it was no different the child that is two weight classes above her brother couldn’t fanthom how this could be her fault. My husband backed me—eventually. After I’d already hit my emotional limit.

The restaurant messed up our order. My patience was thin. But I was still trying. Still teaching. Still showing up.

This morning, after some much-needed sleep, I revisited the night with my husband. I brought up how he sometimes shrugs off moments that require teaching because he just wants to have fun. I get it—he’s not the primary parent. But still. Fun without structure isn’t kindness; it’s avoidance. And if we keep choosing comfort over confrontation, we’re doing these kids a disservice.

He tried to rationalize our stepdaughter’s behavior, but I called it out. I reminded him that they do know how to get our attention when they need it—they just haven’t been taught how to do it respectfully and consistently. And that’s on us.

He backed down. Not with understanding—but with defeat. And that scares me too.

Because parenting—especially blended parenting—requires intentionality. It requires showing up even when you’re tired, but also knowing when to rest so you don’t end up teaching with resentment. It’s a delicate, exhausting, and sacred thing to raise decent humans.

So here’s what I learned yesterday:
✨ Don’t push past your limit just to keep a promise—find a sustainable way to honor it.
✨ Protect your peace and teach the lesson. Both can co-exist.
✨ Partnering in parenting means holding each other accountable, not just holding hands when it’s easy.
✨ Being tired doesn’t make you a bad parent. It makes you human. But ignoring the hard moments? That’s where the damage sneaks in.

Next time I am running on fumes, we do the movie. The dinner can wait.