This past Tuesday, two days before my eldest daughter turned six, I found myself screaming “Serenity Now” on the ride home from swim lessons.

Big A was being so mean to her little sister, so uncharacteristically bratty and whiny that when she finally said something about how Little A and another kid in her daycare ruined the dresses she had made for her stuffed animal kittens and then smacked her sister in the head, I responded the only way I knew how.

“Ohmygod, I don’t care,” I yelled. “That is NO excuse for this nonsense. KNOCK IT OFF RIGHT NOW!!!”

My angry mom voice is pretty on point when it needs to be. It shut her up for about 10 minutes.

And then it started back up. All evening it was something. One complaint followed by another.

“Ohmygod, Ohmygod, what the fuck,” I finally said to Mr. D before stepping outside to hit the bowl.

I came back to more fights. Unfinished dinners. Whines and tantrums and smacks and cries.

“Bedtime,” I ordered, around 7:30. “I am so done with hearing you both.”

They then marched upstairs and screamed in bed. Obnoxiously. Incessantly. And it might have been the 35^th “MOM!” or the second bong hit, or some combination of the two, but about 15 minutes later, I realized that they were literally calling for me. That they needed me. That the only real job of any importance I have is to be there in these moments, the ones where they are at their brattiest, nastiest little selves.

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I was robbed of the role of the Wicked Witch of the West in 6^th grade. I can’t remember now whether I had practiced hard for the part, or if I just had a knack for the stage, but I was good. Damn good. Even now, 22 years later, ask me to say, “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too,” and I still got the magic.

I deserved that damn part. And when I didn’t get it, when, in fact, it was handed over to this 8^th-grade Abigail Fisher, whose tepid performance and passionless cackle served to mock my very existence, I saw then the cruelty of life’s injustices.

I came home that night and cried to my dad, who said there’s nothing wrong with playing the side character (he was a proud nobody in his school production of My Fair Lady), and somehow, someway, I got over it, eventually landing the role of a “100 Grand” chocolate bar in my 8^th-grade, Candy Land-based romp, where I played a trampy (but clearly high-end) gal about town, whose thick New York accent would later allow me to perfect Marisa Tomei monologues from My Cousin Vinny.

I guess that’s a really long way of saying… it all worked out! Exactly as it was supposed to! Even if it didn’t seem that way at the time.

I think the same can be said of my work woes.

I’ve already blogged about the things I’ve learned over this past year–and I wrote all that back when I still thought I was going to be denied the professional equivalent of the Wicked Witch.

But after almost eight months of talking to the casting director about this role; after being offered it on three separate occasions, only to see it snatched away at the last-minute; after a really great second audition that had me waiting two months for an answer, and after a lot of shit in between, I found out today that I got the part!

It feels amazing!!!!

Grit and Grace won! Endurance paid off! Life lessons were learned!

To quote the former Hillary speechwriter, whose remarks would one day be plagiarized by Melania Trump, I have emerged from this experience knowing that “you work hard for what you want in life; that your word is your bond and you do what you say you’re going to do; that you treat people with dignity and respect, even if you don’t know them, and even if you don’t agree with them.”

Those are really good lessons to follow! I’m so glad I did. I don’t think this particular story would have had a happy ending if I had not, and I am so happy it does. I am so deliriously happy. And proud. But mostly just happy.

Grit and grace won! It’s all about perseverance and tenacity! Hard work and talent! Integrity and kindness!

That’s the road to success. To happiness. To personal and professional growth. To boss bitch-dom.

And on that note, #BossBitchesForHillary!