The Cranky Voice of Experience

The bad thing about experience is that most of your illusions are gone.

For example, right now we are very organized for the first week of school. So organized that a little tiny voice in my head began to suggest that somehow we have been transformed into a well-oiled, school-on-time, backpacks-set-out-the-night-before, paperwork-completed machine.

But the cranky voice of experience knows better. In fact by the time you read this, the cranky voice will be shouting “I told you so” as I run back to the house four times for lunch boxes, paperwork, books, and probably, shoes.

I have tried all kinds of things to get us to stay on the organized track.

Lists. I have so many lists that I have a box around here somewhere with ones I’m not sure I can throw away.

Organizers. There’s one on my phone, one on my computer, one on my desk (somewhere), and one in my purse. Unfortunately none of them talk to one another, nor are they remotely organized in the same way. My phone is still reminding me of appointments I no longer have to go to and my computer has refused to let me enter anything until I tell it I’ve gotten at least one of the other 47 things done.

Teamwork. After all, being organized shouldn’t be one person’s job, particularly the least capable person, right? I mean, why should I be in charge? Surely in the wide range of personalities around here there is somebody better suited to the Herculean task of the school year. Unfortunately, being unorganized is apparently either genetic or contagious.

Training. I’ve had an offer to go to another time management class. But when? Who has time?

Prayer. While this has been effective in nearly every other area of my life, asking for divine intervention has yet to have much of an impact on finding socks at 7:15 am.

So, I’m left with the cranky voice in my head telling me that what we’ve started tonight – clean children, clothes picked out, 20 pages of paperwork completed (no kidding) - that none of it will last. Within a matter of days, we’ll be running around the house in a mad scramble, pencils unsharpened, shoes missing, and lunch consisting of crackers and cheese in a plastic grocery bag.

In the end, according to experience, the key is to laugh about it.