I Assure You, This Is Not What “Put Together” Looks Like

My coworkers see me as this very put-together, successful person who has it all under control. I mean my peers. Not the ones that actually work with me day in and day out…

I would like to formally invite them to spend one single weekday inside my actual life.

Today was my normal chaos—and honestly, I guess it doesn’t look that chaotic until you stack all the moments on top of each other like a Jenga tower built entirely out of stress and snack crumbs.

Mornings always start strong. We’re doing great. Everyone is moving. Shoes are on. Spirits are high. And then…it’s time to actually walk out the door.

Phoebe needs hug number 256. She is also suddenly starving. Shon is upstairs with Thaddeus. Jazmyn—do you have your hat? Zip your coat. Why don’t you have your backpack? You literally had it five seconds ago. Is this a magic trick?

I finally make it to the car and NPR is playing this really interesting segment about the results of DOGE. I pull into work and sit there way too long listening because my brain needs one calm, uninterrupted thought before the day eats me alive. I switch it to my phone and walk in…to find my boss there. Unannounced.

Was strolling in 20 minutes late the best timing? Probably not. But here we are.

The morning was hectic. None of the systems were working the way they should. I’m calling it user error, but honestly, I did exactly everything wrong—twice. Then had to recreate all the forms a completely different way.

And then: “Hey, you have a board meeting in 10 minutes.”

I pull out my notes. They say in person. The calendar invite says virtual. Cool cool cool. Either way, I’m late. And I don’t know how anyone ever gets out of an in-person meeting on time because 40 minutes after I should have left, I’m still there.

I finally escape…only to run back to work because I didn’t take any of my stuff. Because of course I have time. I need to make it to the doctor. (Still currently a medical mystery. Do I really need a uterus anymore? Dear uterus, this is your eviction notice.)

It’s too late to go back to work. I call my husband and fill him in. I’ve got medication to pick up and an ultrasound scheduled three weeks from now. I can pick up Jazmyn. We also need cereal. Looks like we’re going to the store.

Shon’s not feeling well and “wouldn’t mind soup and a sammich.” I have too much time to go straight to school but not enough time to go to the store first. Do I want to pick up Thaddeus too? Sure. Why not. Let’s collect them all.

We grab Jazmyn—uneventful, thank goodness—and head to the pharmacy. No cars in the drive-thru. A miracle! We’ll be in and out.

Nope. Phones are down. Come inside.

I haul the kids in and the line is 20 people deep. NOT TODAY. I can wait until morning. Can we get Happy Meals? If you’re good at the store.

I don’t normally shop at the Pig because it’s smaller and has fewer choices, but we only need a couple things. The kids each grab a tiny cart. This feels like a terrible idea but I commit anyway.

Soup aisle: every soup has about half a cup left. Not gonna work. BLTs it is—we need bacon. Grab the bacon. Let’s get a can of French onion soup and call it a day.

No French onion. Cool. Plain chicken noodle it is. Progresso will have to do.

Back to the car.

Oh crap. The cereal. The entire reason we came to the store!

Back inside, everyone.

Alright—bacon 🥓 for BLTs, cereal, crappy soup. You kiddos want Happy Meals? You got it.

We finally pull into the driveway and I look at the groceries.

No lettuce.
No tomatoes.

So it’s bacon sandwiches and crappy soup. Or leftovers. Sorry, Shon.

Put together?
Don’t judge a book by its cover.

In control?
On whose authority??

Confidently winging it—powered by chaos and caffeine.