He Started School… and Apparently So Did I

Client Cancellations, Empty Fridges, and the Weekly Question: “What's for dinner?”

There are certain times in life when you really feel like you have everything together.

This is not one of those times.

My son started school.

And while he may be the one with a backpack, a classroom, and a schedule, somehow I feel like I also enrolled in school this year.

There are forms to sign. Papers to keep up with. Clothes to lay out. Lunches and snacks to think about. School events to remember. And, of course, the nightly realization that apparently children need to be fed every single evening....and put to bed early. 

Rude.

A New Season

Starting school feels like another reminder that life moves quickly.

One minute you're wondering how you're going to survive the baby years, and suddenly you're watching your child run into school with a backpack, beyond excited to see his friends. 

There's excitement.

There's a little sadness.

And there's the realization that your family's routine is changing again, just when a summer routine was, somewhat, setting in. 

We're figuring it out.

Some mornings run smoothly.

Some mornings absolutely do not.

Some weeks dinner is planned.

Some weeks dinner is whatever I can assemble from the freezer while pretending that was the plan all along.

Some workdays go exactly according to schedule.

Others include cancellations, rescheduling, paperwork, unexpected phone calls, and approximately 37 tabs open in my brain.

But maybe that's what this season is really about.

Not having everything perfectly balanced.

Just learning how to adjust as life changes.

The Morning Rush

School mornings have not always been organized, in all honesty they are typically rushed and chaotic. 

I'm trying to make sure everything and everyone are ready. But most importantly that we are leaving the house at a somewhat respectable time.

Meanwhile, I'm also mentally preparing for my own workday.

Did I respond to that email?

What time is my first client?

Do I have paperwork to finish?

Did I remember to send that form?

Where is my coffee?

And perhaps the most important question:

Why is one shoe always missing?

Not both shoes.

Just one.

Always.

They never want to wear the shoes that both shoes are accessible, but must choose the ONE shoe. 

Then Comes the Workday

Once school drop-off is complete, I switch from Mom Mode to Therapist/Business Owner Mode.

Or at least I try to.

Running a private practice means my calendar can look perfectly organized at 8:00 a.m. and completely different by noon. Lets be honest, it is usually off the rails by 9 or 10 AM. 

Client cancellation.

Schedule change.

Someone needs to reschedule.

Paperwork needs completed.

A phone call needs returned.

And suddenly the beautifully organized day I envisioned has become a game of professional Tetris.

The funny thing about client cancellations is that you would think an unexpected opening in the schedule would feel like a gift.

"Oh! I have an hour! Look at all the things I can accomplish!"

Instead, that hour somehow disappears into emails, documentation, laundry, returning phone calls, staring into the refrigerator, and occasionally sitting in complete silence because nobody is asking me for anything.

Sometimes that last one wins.

Speaking of the Refrigerator…

At some point during every busy week, usually around 4:00 PM a terrible realization hits me:

I have made absolutely no plans for dinner.

None.

Not even a vague plan.

And I know everything I have to cook is frozen, when dinner needs to be ready around 6. 

I have spent the entire day helping people problem-solve, organize their thoughts, manage stress, identify coping skills, and create healthier routines.

Yet there I am, standing in my kitchen thinking:

What do people eat?

I open the refrigerator.

Nothing has changed since the last time I opened it.

I close it.

Five minutes later, I open it again.

Still nothing.

Eventually someone (usually my husband) asks the question I have been avoiding:

"What's for dinner?"

And suddenly I'm negotiating with chicken nuggets, frozen pizza, leftovers, cereal, sandwiches, and the possibility that ordering takeout actually counts as supporting the local economy.

The Irony Is Not Lost on Me

There is something incredibly funny about being a therapist during a season like this.

I spend my days encouraging people to give themselves grace.

I talk about realistic expectations.

I remind people that rest is important.

I encourage routines, boundaries, coping skills, and self-compassion.

Then I come home and think:

I should probably clean the house, finish paperwork, answer emails, do laundry, make a nutritious dinner, spend quality time with my family, prepare everything for tomorrow, and somehow get eight hours of sleep.

Sure.

Totally reasonable.

Sometimes I have to remind myself of the exact same things I tell the people sitting on the other side of my screen.

Not every week is going to be perfectly organized.

Not every dinner needs to be homemade.

A client cancellation doesn't mean I have to fill every second with productivity.

The laundry can wait.

The dishes can wait.

And sometimes surviving the school-week shuffle with everyone reasonably fed, loved, and wearing matching shoes (on the correct feet) is enough.

So, How's School Going?

He's learning.

He's growing.

He's adjusting.

And apparently, so am I.

I'm learning that with each year, school mornings require more preparation than I anticipated.

I'm learning that client cancellations can be both frustrating and oddly helpful.

I'm learning that meal planning would probably improve my quality of life dramatically.

Will I actually start meal planning? 

Let's be honest. 

Most importantly, I'm learning—again—that life doesn't have to look perfectly organized to be good.

The calendar can change.

Dinner can come from a drive-thru.

The house can be messy.

The laundry basket can remain undefeated.

And tomorrow morning, we'll get up and do it all over again.

Hopefully with both shoes.

Until next time,

A working mom, therapist, business owner, wife, dog mom, and apparently part-time school administrator who still has no idea what's for dinner.