I used to be the mom with a plan. Type A Mom.
Social gatherings booked months out. A calendar I could glance at and just know — every pickup, every practice, every playdate accounted for. I liked it that way. I was good at it.
And then I found myself with one in middle school and one in kindergarten, and the wheels came off.
The Two-Hour Gap Nobody Warns You About
Here’s something no one tells you: once you’ve got two kids on two different school schedules, your workday quietly ends two hours earlier than it used to. My son’s middle school day wraps up at 4. My daughter, my kindergartner, is off the bus by 3 — on the days she actually rides the bus, that is. Some days I have her bused straight home from aftercare instead, because there’s no version of reality where I can pick her up myself and get her to early dance practice on time. Add in practices across both kids that now start earlier and run later than ever, and the tidy little window I used to have for, you know, working, has a giant hole punched right through the middle of it.
I don’t need to tell you — you’re reading Indianapolis Moms, after all — that the working mom life is a lot. Type A mom is a distant memory. But this year it’s been a different kind of a lot. The kind where I’m booking carpools on the fly instead of a week ahead. Where home-cooked meals have quietly become a legend from a simpler time, and my family is single-handedly keeping the Chick-fil-A points program in business.
It’s thrown me. Genuinely. And also? We’re surviving. No kid has been left at a field yet. I’m counting that as a win.
The Weekends Are Their Own Sport
If you think the chaos is a weekday problem, let me tell you about my weekends.
Yesterday alone, we made the Fishers-to-Zionsville round trip three separate times. If you’re not local, that’s a 35-minute drive each way, times three there and back. Do that math and weep with me.
And that’s just the local stuff. A few weeks ago, we somehow talked ourselves into driving our 10-year-old — who is, and I say this with zero bias, clearly going pro someday — to Columbus, Ohio. For one game. ONE. That’s a six-hour round trip for seventy minutes of soccer. But hey, who’s counting mileage when your kid asks you to be there?
Yesterday, I forgot a birthday gift. Just forgot. We showed up at the party empty-handed. No, this wasn’t an injustice, but Type A mom would have never dreamed of such an atrocity. Of course I dropped my daughter and immediately ran to Target, but just the small short circuit totally threw me.
And I say all this and know I am not alone. This schedule, this level of crazy, is just the bare minimum for so many families. Add in an extra kid, add in another activity, this is just the beginning. Just know that I see you and feel your pain.
Learning to Thrive in the Chaos (Instead of Just Surviving It)
Here’s the part I didn’t expect: I’m actually learning something in the middle of all this.
I’m learning it’s okay that I’m not the Type A Pinterest mom anymore — no cute coordinated gift bags, no artfully arranged healthy snacks waiting post-soccer. That mom moved out about 6 weeks ago.
In her place is Chips-Ahoy-and-a-Juice-Box Mom. (Hey, I do spring for the individually wrapped!) I dump the box of cookies and watch the kids come running like I rang a dinner bell. And honestly? It’s working. They’re fed, they’re happy, and I didn’t have to Pinterest anything.
I can’t say I love this season. But I think it’s making me a better, looser, and more adaptable parent. I am becoming less attached to the plan and more attached to just showing up.
The Friends Who Get It
My friends would laugh at me when I would try to book nights out these last couple of years; I was always planning. These days, we laugh because we realize we haven’t actually seen each other since January. But there’s a new kind of freedom in it too. I’ve become the friend who can call on a whim and say, “Plans this Friday?” Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, I’ve made peace with the breeziness of it.
For now, I’m content with the chaos we’ve built and the slightly-less-in-control version of me that’s running the show. She’s not as polished as the old Type A planner. But she’s keeping up, keeping everyone fed, and somehow — most days — still smiling in the car on the third trip to Fishers.
Here’s to the season of day-to-day. May our gas tanks be full and our chocolate chip cookie supply be plentiful.
