Chaos Coordinator

There was a time in my life when “hot mess” wasn’t just a mood—it was my entire lifestyle. The years when my kids were little? Oh yeah. Peak chaos. I look back and wonder how I functioned on so little sleep, so much coffee, and absolutely no clue what day it was most of the time.

Technically, my job title was Teacher. But unofficially? I was the Chaos Coordinator. I wore the badge proudly… and constantly misplaced it under piles of laundry, permission slips, and mismatched shoes.

Even though I was married, the kids were pretty much my responsibility. I was the default parent. You know, the one who knew where everyone’s shoes, lunchboxes, and favorite stuffed animals were at any given moment (except, of course, when I didn’t). I taught at an Early Learning Center, and my kids went to school with me from 4K through second grade. Looking back, I have no idea how I’d have kept all the balls in the air if they hadn’t been in the same building as me. Honestly? I barely managed as it was.

The first happened when Aubrey was in 4K. It was picture retake day—our last shot at getting a school photo that year because we’d missed the original day while on our family vacation. This was it. The moment. So, I dropped Aubrey off at Gini’s house that morning (Gini, my former coworker and master babysitter), like I did most days. Aubrey was still in her pajamas, because of course she was. Gini’s job was to get her dressed; I promised I’d do her hair right before pictures.

I made sure to tell her teacher to call me when it was time. I even told my own classroom aide, “Hey, I’ll need to duck out this afternoon for two minutes—just enough time to whip Aubrey’s hair into something resembling ‘photo-ready.’” So I waited. And waited. And waited.

By 2:00, I started getting that gnawing feeling. I was walking my class to the gym when I noticed the photo crew packing up. Panic. I popped my head in and asked, “Did Mrs. Collins’ class already get their pictures done?”

“Oh yeah,” they said. “They’re finished.”

I flew back to Aubrey’s classroom, trying not to hyperventilate. “Did you already have your picture taken, honey?”

Yup.

I made my way to the office, hoping for some shred of hope. Mrs. Collins’ aide was there. “Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to do her hair,” she said with a shrug. “No worries. Someday, you’ll laugh about it.”

Spoiler alert: I stood there and cried.

The second story? Classic hot mess mom moment. One freezing winter morning, I loaded the boys (probably Kindergarteners at the time) into the car, wrangled all their gear, and drove to the ELC. As I opened the back door to help them out, I froze—literally and figuratively. There they were, standing in the backseat. Sock feet. No shoes. No boots. Just socks. In Wisconsin. In winter.

After that day, I started keeping a checklist taped to the kitchen door. And another one in the car. “Kids? Check. Dogs inside? Check. Backpacks, purse, lunches? Check. Turn off the flat iron? Double-check.” I even thought about adding “shoes” in bold letters at the top. Honestly, I probably should have.

Being the Chaos Coordinator was hard. I was juggling all the things, all the time. Some days, I nailed it. Some days, I forgot the shoes.

But I showed up. I did the best I could. And eventually, I even learned to triple-check for shoes before leaving the house.

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