Today launched day one of my mighty plan for tackling creative endeavors and building a schedule into our chaotic lives.

And it failed. Pitifully.

The infant conspired against me and woke up every two hours through the night.

The toddler didn’t want to go to “school” and wined about it, begging me to let him stay home.

The house was a mess and all I could do was ignore it as a packed lunches and diaper bags.

I put on workout clothes determined to make it to that 9:30 class. We didn’t get out the door until 9:30.

The car made horrific scraping noise as we pulled out of the driveway. Turns out the undercarriage had been torn loose. A flurried search unearthed giant zip ties I used to MacGyver the thing together well enough for us to get to school. 

I plodded into school bearing a baby in one arm, a lunch box, diaper bag, back pack, and cooler for bottles in the other, with a toddler trailing behind. 

When I made it back to my car after an exhausting and emotional drop off it was 10:00.

I was officially an hour behind my schedule.

This may not seem terrible, but when you only have 10 hours (8 if you consider driving time for drop off and pick up) of dedicated work time a week, one hour lost is a 10% loss in productivity.

I got in the car exhausted and defeated. A few frustrated tears fell as drove away. Do other drivers ever notice the pathetic woman crying in her car?  I wonder without really caring. 

I struggle with making plans at this stage of life. With two little humans at home my life is regulated more by their lives than by a calendar or clock. I never wanted to be a mom whose life revolved around her kids. I even said so defiantly as a pre-parent woman. What I didn’t understand is that some amount of bowing to their schedule is absolutely necessary in the early stages. The infant has to eat every 3 hours. The toddler has to have his diaper changed periodically. I can’t and I shouldn’t just say “Kids, Mom has an agenda. Your needs have to wait.” And the trouble with these little adorable beings is that they are unpredictable. How dare they be human, right? They don’t always fall asleep and wake in patterns. Their needs today aren’t exactly what they were yesterday or the day before. Just when you find a rhythm they throw you off. Ha ha, mom! You only thought you had us figured out!” I imagine them saying to themselves while snickering with glee. 

So I waffle back and forth between making plans - even simple plans - and setting goals for myself and for them OR letting go and simply riding the wave of chaos. Because the goals and plans often end in frustration and defeat but the absence of goals leaves me feeling aimless and disillusioned. 

There is a happy medium, of course. But it is the hardest thing in the world to accomplish. The middle road is the tightrope of established plans held with an open hand. It is called improvisation. It’s not unlike a dance. 

I used to participate in competitive Irish step dance. Yes, that’s a thing. And it’s a crazy and wonderful world I thoroughly enjoyed for several years. One of the unique things about a Irish dance competition is that dancers take the stage two at a time and dance to the same music. The dances (a reel, a jig, a hornpipe, etc.) can be performed to any song with a specific time signature. So, the strains of a fiddle or an accordion would begin and you would take the stage with another dancer, rise to your toes and launch into your dance. As you danced you had to keep your mind on your footwork and travel the stage with ease while keeping the other dancer in your peripheral vision. A collision would not only be embarrassing but could also devastate both of your scores. So you had to dance with fierce commitment while being ready to adapt your trajectory at any given moment. 

As a parent, I’m trying to live with fierce commitment while also adapting to the needs, the tone, and movements of those in my little family. It’s so much harder than a dance competition, of course, (even with the absence of unrelenting accordian music). Because, unlike that competitor next to me, I love these other humans and their needs are so deeply tied to my heartstrings. It is a battle of discipline and grace to keep fighting to dance, to make plans, to set goals, to work on creative endeavors and to adapt and serve them. It’s a struggle that every mother, working or “staying at home” feels, I’m sure. 

My word to myself today: keep laying those plans. Keep dancing. Do the next thing. But don’t marry yourself to those plans. There is joy to be found in plan B and plan C… even plan X and Y. And I shouldn’t wallow in discouragement because I lost 10% of my work time. I still have 90% remaining. I would be foolish to waste any more in regret and self pity. I have more than many women. I am grateful. I am determined. I am still dancing.