Normally, I am not one for cursing, but by 11 a.m. today I have dropped the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks word, the S-word, and almost—ALMOST—broke my never, ever under any circumstances, ever, say the F-word rule. It has just been that kind of morning.

So, when I texted my friend to let off a little steam, I was not surprised to learn that she was on a very similar track for her day. Both of our kiddos—sick with diarrhea, deciding that today is the day to prove to the world that demonic possessions are, in fact, real.

Heaven help us! I thought.

After waking up two hours early, my son decided that nothing on God’s green earth was good enough for him.

“I want oatmeal!” “No, oatmeal! Yogurt!” “No yogurt! Oatmeal!” “No Mommy! I want Daddy!”

The list of demands went on and on, until I finally put him in his room to let him cry it out for a few minutes (don’t judge—you weren’t there).

Monday is grocery day, meaning I had to take my normally lovable boy turned rabid dog out in public. I knew it was going to be a rough trip, so I decided it wouldn't hurt to give myself a little pick-me-up. That's mom code for an incredibly overpriced latte from Starbucks.

Imagine my dismay when one block away from the store my son yells to me that he "has to go…NOW!" I would have loved to leisurely sip my latte as I hit every red light on my way to the store, but the memories of last night’s poo-covered escapades were all-too fresh in my mind. I slammed the pedal to the metal, frantically trying to reach my destination in time. Much to my dismay, the main road was closed!

That's when it happened. I let that four little S-word slip from my mouth.

Guess who decided to repeat said S-word?

We finally made it to the store. I popped my son in a cart and started sprinting toward the bathrooms, focusing only on the cute little ticking time bomb in front of me.

I heard the greeter yell something at me as I rushed past, but time was of the essence. Niceties would have to wait.

I made it to the bathroom, busted through the stall, and propped my kid on the toilet, while simultaneously giving myself a silent applause for being such a master at the potty shuffle.

One minute turned into two, then five. Finally, my son spoke up.

“No potty, mommy,” he said, a grin plastered across his face from ear to ear.

I almost placed him up for adoption.

At that point the only thing keeping me going was the thought of my now lukewarm latte waiting for me back in the cart. Too bad I didn’t listen to the greeter as I rushed in. All that remained in my little red cup was a trickle of liquid falling to the floor; a watery trail of $7 latte leading right back to my car.

The day was shot. I grabbed my groceries and rushed home as quickly as possible. Put my kid down for a nap and sat down to sulk in my sorrows. Then I heard it. A knock at the door.

There stood my sweet friend—completely unannounced—with a beautiful little red cup in her hand. An expensive latte just for me.

How did she even know?

In this motherhood business some days are much, much tougher than others. My suggestion for all of you mamas out there in these same trenches is simple: if you don’t have a BMFF—Best Mom Friend Forever—go out and get one.

You never know how much of a difference they will make in your life.