The other day, Toby walked up to me and handed me his much beloved tin full of change. “It’s all my money. It’s for you to buy a horse,” he told me in that incredibly endearing pre-schooler lisping voice.

Is it possible for your heart to both clunk to the bottom of your chest and soar at the same time? Mine did both, simultaneously.

I am somehow raising a child who has a huge, giving heart. He told us the other day that a friend of his at school doesn’t have a flag shirt, and since he has two, he wants to give one to this other kid. He also wanted to give another friend a boogie board, because “he doesn’t have one and I love mine.”

I know this is also indicative of his age and phase, but it’s damn cute and enchanting and I’m going to enjoy it until he realizes he’s an only child and all the things are his and only his.

There are signs that a sly yang does exist to balance out the sweet and generous ying. After all, I know that kid has a stash of dollar bills, including some 20s and 10s, and those haven’t been offered up for equine procurement yet. He may be sweet, but he ain’t dumb.

So yes, my heart exploded with pride and joy at the spontaneous generosity and thoughtfulness displayed by this mystical creature I somehow spawned. And I’m writing this partly so I have something to read when he’s 13 and incorrigible—something to remind me that he once daily broke my heart with joy.

But if I’m brutally honest, that single moment also flipped some kind of switch in me.

For the past six or so months, I’ve been closing in on myself a bit. I feel lost without a horse, a bit wandery without a glossy hide to groom, a personality to unravel. Like my touchstone that kept me “me” has been stashed away and hidden somewhere.

There’s been a lot going—family worries, work stress. I don’t have a “tribe” of friends to turn to in those times. The people I’m closest to are kind of virtual friends—too far away to have much actual real contact with on a regular basis. I’ve been gone from Middleburg for long enough that my go-tos there have faded a bit. And I’ve been useless at developing new friendships that go beyond the “acquaintance” level in the recent years. (I’ve read enough Scary Mommy confessional posts to know I’m definitely not along in my feelings of isolation as an introvert mom!). Bottom line, I don’t really have anybody non-family or non-work checking in and making sure I’m OK or to whom I can vent. Which is 100 percent my fault, but it’s still tough.

So, I’ve turned inward. I’ve soothed with food. I’ve sat in front of my computer and seethed about politics and the state of the world. I haven’t been able to count on a long walk out into a field to catch a horse, or a quiet grooming session, or a nice long hack to clear my mind as I always did before. I haven’t had my happy place.

The result is that I’ve become quite… “fluffy” shall we say… and not as happy a person as I should be. I don’t look in mirrors. I retreat within myself at every opportunity. I said I wanted to get a horse again, but I wasn’t saving money or getting myself fit in order to achieve that. It was like I was self-sabotaging my own goals. I’d lost my “mojo” as they’d say.

But I’m determined to get it back. When Toby handed me that tin full of change, it made me realize that he deserves a mom with mojo. He’s willing to give me at least his spare change, if not his cold hard cash, to help me achieve a goal he’s heard me discuss. And up to that point, I hadn’t invested even the spare change out of my pocket—virtual or literal—in the effort.

So, I’m on a hunt for my mojo. I’ve finally found an exercise class that motivates and energizes me. I’ve given up (some, I’m not perfect!) bad habits. I’ve started saving money.

I don’t know if this will actually result of a purchase of an equine in the near future. That’s my hope, but there are a lot of hurdles to jump on the way there. If I do, I’m going to find a way to use Toby’s $3.76 (rough estimate) to seal the deal.

And if I don’t figure that one out, that’s not the end of the world. I’ve started the process of finding a new happy place—one that’s not at the end of a leadshank, but inside myself. That mojo of mine is out there somewhere, and I’ll find it.

The best part is that I have this little creature to keep reminding me what’s important. The other night I went to exercise class and when Toby asked John where I went, John said, “To get rid of some of the junk in her trunk.”

The next morning, on the way to daycare, Toby asked me out of the blue, “Did you get your car clean last night? It doesn’t look any different.” It took me a solid five minutes of asking questions to puzzle out where that question came from. But even though he really, really doesn’t understand the metaphor yet, I think he’s kind of happy the junk’s on the way out.