Every Tuesday at 11 a.m., my kids have their ukulele lessons. Yes, every single Tuesday. The lessons happen just a short walk from our home, yet without fail, I receive texts from their instructor, “Are you on your way?” “It’s 11 a.m.!” “Is everything alright?” By the time those texts come through, it’s clear we won’t be making it that week. I know it’s 11 a.m. and that it’s Tuesday. Somehow, I just don’t connect the dots for ukulele lessons. And clearly, we’re not fine since I can’t seem to manage a simple weekly music class just a stone’s throw away.
This isn’t an isolated incident. My kids were part of a homeschool co-op on Thursday mornings, and I frequently forgot about it or mistakenly scheduled playdates instead. This led to the classic dilemma of choosing between academic enrichment and free play, both of which I value.
I do manage to attend Swim and Gym at the YMCA on Monday afternoons, but only because my oldest constantly reminds me. While I’m often preoccupied with planning lessons or grocery shopping, he’ll interrupt me with, “Mama, it’s Swim and Gym day!” The same goes for his friend, Max. “It’s Max Day!” he exclaims when he wakes up. My heart sinks. Oh no, it is indeed Max Day. I find myself relying on a 6-year-old to keep track of my schedule.
When it comes to doctor’s appointments, I need to input everything into my phone; otherwise, I forget. I’ve tried setting up reminders, but I either mess up the input or overlook the notifications. Despite living in a world filled with technology, I still feel overwhelmed.
It’s not just about forgetting things; I’m perpetually late. I’ve calculated that it takes about an hour for each child to get ready. This means I need to wake up three hours before any event. More often than not, I either get distracted by the internet or struggle to get the kids dressed in time. Suddenly, I realize we have only twenty minutes to get somewhere that’s a twenty-minute drive away, and no one has brushed their teeth yet.
On more fortunate days, I wake up early, get the kids dressed, and have everything under control. But then we end up taking our sweet time, letting the dogs out and back in, and eventually finding ourselves aimlessly driving around for half an hour if we arrive early. When we do make it on time, we often look disheveled; my kids sometimes sport unkempt hair, and I frequently forget essentials like snacks and water bottles.
As a result, I’ve become the subject of jokes about my disorganization, embodying the stereotype of a mom who can’t keep it all together. While it may appear concerning, I assure you that my kids are doing just fine. I often find comfort in that my friends are understanding. I sometimes envy those seemingly perfect parents who arrive promptly at 11 a.m. with everything in hand, and their children looking immaculate. Yet, I’ve come to accept our unique rhythm; whether we’re half an hour late or early, it’s part of who we are. If you can’t appreciate the chaos, then perhaps we’re not meant to be friends.
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In summary, I may not be the model of punctuality or organization, but my kids are thriving in their own way. Life may be chaotic, but it’s also filled with love and laughter.