Today was supposed to be a big day in our house.

My kids celebrated their birthdays at school today — sort of. My son has a summer birthday, but we held him back, so today we were celebrating his 2025 birthday. My daughter’s birthday is in September, but she was too young to be in school when September rolled around, so we were celebrating her 2025 birthday too, because next year she’ll actually be at school on the real day.

Two belated birthday parties. One shot to get it right. I was on it.

We ordered the donuts ahead of time from BJ’s. Not just any donuts — number donuts. “4”s for my son’s 4th birthday. “2”s for my daughter’s 2nd. The kind of detail that makes a four-year-old’s eyes go wide.

We walked into BJ’s this morning to pick them up and learned that the kitchen had not, in fact, made the “4”. They only had the “2”.

To their credit, BJ’s handled it beautifully. They apologized, refunded us for what they couldn’t produce, and threw in three dozen free donuts for the school. As adults, my husband and I were completely fine with the outcome. As a mom watching my four-year-old’s face, I was not.

He doesn’t get to celebrate his birthday at school like the other kids. He loves his friends more than anything in the world. We had planned ahead. We had done everything right. And it still didn’t work out.

The Lego Moment

Earlier in the morning, before the donut debacle, my son was building with Legos and getting increasingly frustrated. Things would fall. His sisters would brush against his creation and it would crumble. He cried. He got mad. At one point he snapped at me, which I don’t tolerate, and I told him if he couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t play with the Legos at all.

Because here’s the thing about Legos: the building falls down. That’s part of it. You can’t build something better next time if nothing ever falls this time.

And my emotional, sensitive four-year-old, who is sometimes more insightful than I give him credit for, took a breath and said:

“Mommy, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the Legos.”

I have not stopped thinking about that sentence all day.

Doing Everything Right, and Still

At work right now, we’re in the middle of what we’re calling a Radical Speed Month. People are getting the chance to work on the things that excite them, the things they know will make life better for everyone our company touches. It’s the kind of initiative that feels electric when it’s going well.

But it’s also the kind of thing where, no matter how carefully you plan, something is going to break. A dependency you didn’t see. A kitchen that forgets to make the “4”. A Lego that slips off the base.

Today reminded me: you can try so hard to do everything right and still have something completely out of your control go sideways. All you can do is the best with what you know, and then get better for next time.

That’s not a failure. That’s just building.

The Real Lesson

My husband and I are in the process of building up a business on top of everything else. It’s stressful. We don’t know what we don’t know. We’re going to make choices that turn out to be wrong, and we’re going to run into things we couldn’t have foreseen.

And when the Legos fall, because they will, we cannot take it out on each other.

When we do (and we will), we have to apologize. We have to remember the thing my four-year-old figured out before most adults do:

I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the Legos.

Your partner didn’t cause the kitchen to forget the “4”. Your coworker didn’t cause the timeline to slip. Your kid didn’t cause your bad day. The Legos fell. They will fall again. You’re allowed to be frustrated, just aim it at the right thing.

Tonight

Tonight the kids have their art show at school. The grandparents are coming. We’ll walk through the gallery, point at the paintings, and eat ice cream afterward. My son will get over the donut and both my son and daughter will be so proud to show off their work.

And I’ll be over here quietly grateful that my four-year-old, in between meltdowns over a falling tower, handed me one of the better pieces of management advice I’ve gotten all year.

The Legos will fall. Get better for next time. Don’t take it out on the people you love.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the Legos.