Beans Before the Breakdown
How to Outsmart Hangry
A few years ago, I volunteered at a migrant shelter in El Paso. Guests rotated cooking and cleaning, which meant I got a front-row seat to incredible food — and a mindset that has quietly shaped my motherhood.
The minute breakfast dishes hit the sink, someone was already soaking beans for lunch.
That detail stuck with me.
As someone who is not naturally gifted in the “plan ahead” department, this shift has been everything. The question is simple:
How can I set myself up for the next thing?
Because here’s what I know: in my house, “fine” can turn to “hangry” in under three minutes (a certain little boy takes after his Mama). And when that happens, everyone’s nervous system pays.
I am a self-preservationist. If I can prevent being screamed at while chopping vegetables, I will.
Here’s what that looks like:
Coffee prepped and timed the night before. (I am a coffee-first girlie.)
Sunday breakfast batch: baked oatmeal, egg casserole, hard-boiled eggs + fruit.
If I’m already in the kitchen, I start something else. Boil eggs. Throw meat in the Dream Cooker. Roast vegetables. I call this capitalizing on energy. I’m here anyway, may as well.
Veggies get steamed or roasted whenever I have momentum. No elaborate system. Just: I’m here. Let’s help Future Me.
It’s not just food; it’s mental load.
After breakfast, we walk. But I decide ahead of time: am I cleaning up now or later? If it’s later, I name when. That single decision keeps the mess from buzzing in my brain.
The biggest lesson from that shelter wasn’t about beans.
It was this:
Planning ahead doesn’t require a personality transplant.
The plan can be extremely simple.
This morning before our walk, I quickly clocked lunch: what he’d eat, when he’d eat, and whether we had the ingredients. We did. If we hadn’t, I still had margin to pivot — before a certain angel boy started nipping at my heels whining for food.
For someone who prefers to fly by the seat of her pants, this is absolutely building new neural pathways. It can feel like work.
But you know what’s more work?
A toddler screaming while I panic-chop.
Simple shifts. Big payoff.
(Most of the time).
In this together,
