Short Fuse, Full Heart: Why Breaks Make Me a Better Mom

(Because apparently, being “Mom” 1,001 times a day can make anyone lose their halo.)

Life in the Trenches of Momhood

This weekend I packed the kids, the snacks, and my sanity (barely) into the car and headed to New Hampshire with my sister. If you’ve read this blog before, you know my backstory: divorced, two kids, co-parenting. Most of the time, the kids are with me—which I love—but every other weekend, they head to their dad’s.

When they’re with me, we’re always doing. We don’t just “hang around.” Nope. I’m that mom with a packed itinerary. Zoo trips. Aquarium memberships. Apple picking. Museums. Farms. If there’s an animal, a hayride, or an overpriced gift shop, I’ve probably dragged my kids there. People tell me, “You’re such a good mom.” Translation: I’ve mastered the art of wrangling kids in public without losing one.

But here’s the truth: being the “good mom” is exhausting.

The Perfect Fall Weekend… With a Side of Meltdowns

This weekend was supposed to be perfect. My sister (aka Super Aunt/Tía of the Year) surprised us with a birthday getaway to Steele Hill Resort in New Hampshire. We’re all summer babies—July, August, September—so she bundled our birthdays into one epic fall weekend: hotel pools with slides, apple picking, a harvest festival, and of course, grandparents in the mix.

It was magical… and also loud.

Cue:

• “Don’t touch my iPad.”

• “That’s MY side of the car door.”

• “Mom, MOM, MOOOM!”

• 
  

By Saturday afternoon, I wasn’t answering to “Mom” anymore. Every “Mom?” was met with:

• “What now?”

• “Can you please give me five minutes of silence?”

• Or the classic, deep sigh followed by a glare.

The Hairbrush Olympics

Sunday morning, the chaos peaked. We were checking out of the hotel, trying to get everyone ready to drive back to Boston for church. My daughter refused to brush her hair. (Side note: we cut her hair short this summer because brushing it was that traumatic. Spoiler: she still hates it short.)

So, cue the waterworks.

Meanwhile, my son wanted a toy from the car, my tea was cold, and I was trying to look like a composed Christian mother while internally spiraling. Let’s just say “gentle parenting” left the chat.

The Thing About Tantrums

Here’s the kicker: no matter how many fun things I plan, there’s always a meltdown. Always. The zoo ends in tears. The aquarium ends in a tantrum. Even apple picking—yes, APPLE PICKING—ends with someone crying about not getting the “perfect” apple.

And every time, I feel defeated. I just did all the things, spent all the money, carried all the snacks… and somehow, the day still ends with me feeling like maybe I’m not enough.

Mom Guilt Is Real (And Exhausting)

By Sunday night, I was running on fumes. I’d snapped at the kids more than once, felt guilty about my short fuse, and wondered if I was ruining their childhood one eye roll at a time.

But then I remembered something: I’m not failing. I’m human.

And as much as I love my kids (to the moon, back, and all the way through Target), the truth is: I need breaks.

Breaks Don’t Make You a Bad Mom

I used to dread the weekends when my kids were with their dad. I’d count down the hours until they came back, sad and restless without them. I thought being a “good mom” meant wanting to be with them 24/7.

But I’ve learned something life-changing: breaks don’t make you a bad mom. Breaks make you a better mom.

Because when the kids come back? I’m rested. I’m excited. I want to do the zoo (again). I want to pack the snacks, wrangle the hairbrush, and even survive the “Mom! Mom! Mom!” chorus without losing my cool.

Why Breaks Are Actually a Blessing

Here’s why I now look forward to those weekends “off”:

• I get to be me again. Not just “Mom.” I’m Rochelly. A woman who loves coffee shops, blogging, gym time, and silence (yes, silence is a hobby).

• I get to miss my kids. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. When they walk back through the door, I’m genuinely excited to see them, not just bracing for the next round of “Who touched who?”

• I get perspective. Parenting feels all-consuming when you never step out of it. Breaks remind me my kids will be okay. They have two parents who love them. And I don’t have to carry it all 24/7.

• I come back better. My patience resets. My energy refills. And suddenly, I’m the fun mom again—the one who sings to the radio, says yes to ice cream, and actually laughs at their knock-knock jokes.

To the Mom in the Trenches

If you’re in the middle of a tantrum right now, hiding in the bathroom while your kids bang on the door—hear me: you’re not failing. You’re just tired.

Take the break. Welcome the break. Let yourself breathe without guilt. Your kids don’t need a perfect mom; they need a mom who knows how to rest and reset.

And here’s the secret: when you come back, you’ll cherish the chaos all over again.

Final Word: The Gift of Breaks

I didn’t ask for co-parenting. I didn’t want weekends without my kids. But now, I see them as a gift. Not because I don’t love my kids—I do, fiercely—but because breaks give me the chance to love them better.

Motherhood isn’t about being endlessly patient or perfectly composed. It’s about showing up, again and again, even when you’ve lost your cool. And sometimes, the best way to show up is to step back for a minute, rest, and come back ready to try again.

So yes, sometimes I’m short-fused. Sometimes I feel guilty. But at the end of the day? My kids are safe, loved, and making memories. And me? I get to look forward to both the chaos and the quiet.

Breaks don’t make us weaker. Breaks make us stronger.

So take the break. You deserve it. Your kids deserve it. And when you come back—full heart, recharged energy—you’ll be reminded why the messy, noisy, tantrum-filled chaos is actually the most beautiful part of all.

💜 — Rochelly