You know those days when you feel so fragile you wonder if the wind might break you. When one thing after another seems to go wrong and even though you acknowledge that individually they are not worth falling apart over, together they become a cloud around you; a cloud that starts to solidify like concrete, tightening your chest and shortening your breath. It’s that feeling you get when your to-do list gets longer as the remainder of the day gets shorter. When you feel guilty because the dog hasn’t been walked and you have no idea what you’re cooking for dinner and your husband’s going to be home before you to find your unwashed dishes in the sink.

Those days when you feel like you’re failing at being the kind of person you want to be. When you would love nothing more than to jump into your car and drive to the nearest beach, to sit on the cold sand, barefoot, breathing, watching the waves lick the shoreline as the sky transitions through a dozen shades of purple and pink.

Days when the only words you seem to be able to articulate are, ‘I can’t.’

It’s been one of those days. They happen, and they pass, and the world keeps turning, and I’ll be ok. But I wanted to say goodnight with a conversation worth remembering; a conversation I’m so grateful found me before this day lost me.

This morning, as we were about the start a persuasive writing workshop, a Year 2 asked me, ‘Can you draw?’

‘No,’ I laughed. ‘I can write, but I can’t draw.’

Unfazed, he asked, ‘Can you draw a stickman?’

‘Well … yes. I can draw a stickman.’

He shrugged and smiled, because the answer was so simple: ‘Then you can draw.’

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