The healing power of milk and a cookie

Like I said, yesterday I was tired. By the middle of the morning I had talked my eldest back from the edge of total meltdown over a maths problem; researched the Greek Monarchy with my middle son and then discovered that the word in his question was 'monetary' (as in 'what is the monetary unit of Greece'); cleared breakfast; put on a load of washing; cleaned the bathroom and I was in the process of teaching my daughter addtion and subtraction signs which were frustrating her to the point of tears. At the same time I was sewing Beaver Badges on to my son's uniform. I had just suggested my little girl take a snack break when I stuck a needle hard into my finger. I burst into tears. Big snivels and inarticulate sobs about being tired, having too much to do, my finger hurting and needing milk and a cookie. It wasn't pretty.
A moment later my beautiful little girl re-appeared to tell me that she'd poured 2 glasses of milk, one for me. I sat at the kitchen table with her. We drank our milk and ate our cookies. Crisis over.