I got back from my Galentines weekend yesterday morning, still carrying the soft glow of laughter, late nights, and the kind of rest you forget you desperately need until you finally get it.

The moment I walked through the door, that glow collided beautifully with real life, as I was met with a huge, full-body hug from the Tween and the biggest smiles from Izzy, the kind that instantly melt away distance and remind you exactly where your heart lives.

I barely had time to put my bag down before I realized just how much they had missed me. Their energy wrapped around me, loud and warm and completely unfiltered, and in that moment it was impossible not to feel grateful for being so deeply wanted at home.

There is something grounding about coming back to children who don’t hide their feelings. They don’t play it cool, they don’t hold back, they just throw themselves at you with love and expect you to catch it.

The weekend away had been brilliant, exactly what I needed in ways I didn’t fully understand until I was already there. It was filled with laughter that came easily, conversations that weren’t interrupted, and the rare luxury of thinking only about myself for a little while.

I felt lighter there, more like the version of myself that existed before responsibilities stacked up and days began to revolve around schedules, care, and logistics. For a short time, I remembered what it felt like to be just me, not mum, not carer, not coordinator of everything, just a woman with friends and stories and space to breathe.

But that feeling, as wonderful as it was, didn’t last long once I was home. In true Mayes family fashion, reality reintroduced itself almost immediately, making the weekend feel like a distant memory about five minutes after I stepped back inside.

While I was away, drama had unfolded, because of course it had. It always does, and somehow it always manages to be both stressful and ridiculous at the same time.

Stu, doing his best and meaning well as always, had decided to take both girls out for Sunday dinner. It was meant to be simple, a nice family outing, food, conversation, a sense of normality while I was gone.

Everything went fine until they got back to the car. That was when the universe decided to add its own twist, because the car refused to start, the battery completely flat with no warning.

Anyone who has ever dealt with accessibility equipment knows that a flat battery is never just a flat battery. It becomes a chain reaction of complications, and this time the biggest one was that Izzy’s wheelchair was stuck in the boot.

There are few things more stressful than being stranded with children, especially when one of them relies on equipment that is suddenly inaccessible. What should have been the end of a nice evening turned into problem-solving mode, patience being tested, and that familiar feeling of “why is it always like this.”

It’s moments like those that highlight how much planning and forethought goes into everyday life when disability is part of the picture. Simple things are never truly simple, and even small hiccups can quickly turn into major obstacles.

Somehow, they managed, because they always do. Stu handled it, the girls coped, and by the time I heard the full story, it had already transformed into one of those tales you half laugh at and half sigh about because what else can you do.

Yesterday was a day off for Izzy, which meant a slightly slower pace after all the excitement and mishaps of the weekend. There was time to reset, to settle back into routine, and to gently shift from weekend mode into the structure that weekdays demand.

Today, though, it was straight back to school. Bags packed, shoes on, the familiar rhythm returning as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

That contrast is something I’ve grown used to, the way life swings from chaos to routine without any warning. One minute you’re dealing with car batteries and inaccessible wheelchairs, the next you’re waving goodbye at the school gate like it’s just another normal day.

As I moved through the house yesterday, unpacking bags and catching up on missed moments, the weekend away already felt far away. It’s strange how quickly you can slip back into your role, how fast rest is replaced by responsibility.

And yet, I don’t regret going for a second. That weekend gave me something I didn’t realize I’d been running low on, a reminder that I am allowed to step away sometimes, that I’m allowed to refill my own cup.

Being a mum, especially in a family where additional needs are part of daily life, can quietly consume every part of you. You don’t always notice it happening, because love makes it feel natural, but over time you can lose sight of yourself if you’re not careful.

Those few days away were a reset button. They reminded me that I’m more patient, more present, and more resilient when I’ve had even a small chance to rest.

Coming home to hugs and smiles only reinforced that truth. My kids didn’t resent my absence, they celebrated my return, and that told me everything I needed to know.

They are okay when I take time for myself. In fact, they’re better for it, because I come back with more energy, more laughter, and a fuller heart.

The Mayes drama will never stop, I know that now. There will always be unexpected challenges, flat batteries, missed plans, and moments that test our limits.

But there will also always be hugs at the door, smiles that light up a room, and the kind of love that makes even the hardest days feel worth it.

That’s the balance we live in, chaos and comfort side by side. It’s messy, unpredictable, exhausting, and incredibly beautiful all at once.

Yesterday reminded me that it’s okay for life to be both things at the same time. It’s okay to need a break, and it’s okay to come home to madness.

Because in the middle of it all, there is love. Loud, imperfect, stubborn love that keeps showing up, no matter how flat the battery gets.

And that, more than anything, is what makes it all work.