I don’t really understand why, but any failure I have performing mechanical tasks around the house (building simple items, repairing others) seems to have an extremely negative impact on the rest of my day. I’m not going to go so far as to say depression, but more-than-mildly bummed would be accurate.

Take yesterday, for example. Matt had returned to me JP’s car seat, which I had lent to him when Sasha was born. I need it back now for Ellie (I recycle!), and wanted to get it installed in the car, so I would be ready if the baby came early.

After about fifteen minutes of grunting and seatbelt tugging (the Graco people do insist on a snug ride), I realized I was missing a small but crucial article of safety equipment. Another period of extended internet searching to determine that the piece was in fact missing and could be purchased ensued, and the part is now on the way.

But it meant that I didn’t get the task done, which is no big deal. Yet I found myself inordinately frustrated at not achieving what I set out to do, and I have only a vague idea why.

I think it has something to do with my not being handy. I’ve so thoroughly convinced myself that I can’t complete even the simplest tasks that when things do inevitably go awry, I get flustered and angry because I just knew I’d never get the thing done.

Which isn’t true. I always take care of what needs to be taken care of, but rarely without some helpless huffing and puffing.

Such is life.