How Am I Supposed to Do All of This?

On motherhood, making magic, carrying the mental load, and learning that doing it all might not be the goal.

How am I supposed to do all of this?

It's a question I've found myself asking more and more lately, sometimes out loud, sometimes quietly to myself, and occasionally with a few choice words thrown in.

We recently returned from our annual Girl Scout camping trip. It was wonderful, exhausting, rainy, muddy, and filled with some truly special moments. We arrived home with a car full of camping gear, wet clothes, and approximately a million things that needed to be unpacked, cleaned, washed, and put away.

My husband was preparing for another work trip, and I was staring down another stretch of solo parenting four kids under eight. There were mountains of laundry, a house that needed attention, meals to make, school schedules to manage, and two upcoming trips of my own that required an extraordinary amount of preparation.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I found myself wondering:

How?

Seriously. How am I supposed to do all of this?

Not because I don't love my life. I do. Deeply.

But lately, I've been so busy managing it that I'm beginning to wonder when I'm supposed to actually enjoy it.

The Invisible Work of Making Life Happen

My husband recently started a new job that requires significant travel and long hours. It's an exciting opportunity for him and our family, but it has also meant a major adjustment to our everyday lives. With four young children and no family nearby, I've found myself doing a whole lot more solo parenting than I ever anticipated.

Yes, I have a village. A wonderful village, actually. People who show up, who care about our children, and who would absolutely help if I asked. But here's the thing: their lives are just as full as ours. And honestly, I don't particularly like asking for help. I don't like feeling like I'm inconveniencing someone or adding another responsibility to their already overflowing plate.

They're my kids. My responsibility. Period.

At least, that's what I've always told myself. And lately, I'm beginning to wonder whether that belief is part of what's making everything so difficult.

This month is a perfect example. I have two upcoming trips that I'm genuinely excited about. The first is a short, three-day getaway to a meditation retreat in upstate New York. My husband and I visited a couple of years ago, and I loved it. I've been looking forward to returning. The second is a trip to Singapore, where I'll be joining my husband during one of his work trips.

Singapore! An opportunity to travel, explore, experience something new, spend some time with my husband, and even have a little time to myself. These are exactly the kinds of experiences I've been craving.

And yet, before I can actually enjoy either of them, there's an extraordinary amount of work to do.

Arranging childcare for four children. Coordinating schedules. Making sure our primary caregivers have additional support because, well, it's four kids. Organizing school drop-offs, pickups, extracurricular activities, meals, routines, and all the other little details that keep our household functioning. Making lists, checking lists, remembering things that didn't make it onto the lists, and then remembering the things that nobody else even knows need remembering.

It's not simply arranging for someone to watch the kids. It's temporarily transferring the operating system of an entire household into someone else's hands. And that takes work. A lot of work.

The irony isn't lost on me. In order to take a break from being responsible for everything, I first have to be responsible for making sure everything can happen without me.

Sometimes the preparation feels so overwhelming that I wonder whether the break is worth it. Except I know it is. Because I need these experiences, too. I need to explore, learn, grow, spend time with my husband outside the demands of parenting, and remember what it feels like to be a person whose day isn't entirely dictated by someone else's needs.

And these trips aren't happening in isolation. They're sandwiched between weeks of solo parenting, an already packed family schedule, and a whole lot of life. We'll return home just in time for our annual Halloween breakfast before school on Friday, followed by Halloween itself the next day. And then? My husband heads back into another stretch of work and travel.

Which means more solo parenting for me.

And, of course, there's all the Halloween magic to make happen between now and then.

The Magic Maker

Now, I realize that much of what I'm describing is self-imposed. Nobody is requiring me to host an annual Halloween breakfast. Nobody is demanding that I create elaborate holiday traditions, participate in the neighborhood's You've Been Booed tradition, assemble surprises for friends and teachers, or spend hours thinking of ways to make the season special.

Well, except maybe my children. And honestly, even when they aren't asking for these things, they absolutely love them. And I love that they love them.

That's the part that makes this so complicated. These aren't simply obligations I wish I could eliminate. They're things that matter to me. They're part of the childhood I want to give my children, and they're part of the mother I want to be.

I grew up with a mother who had an incredible ability to make holidays and special occasions feel magical. Even when times were tough. Especially when times were tough. You would never have known it by looking around our house during a holiday. There were decorations, traditions, surprises, celebrations, and a feeling that something wonderful was always just around the corner.

My mom somehow made the impossible possible.

I had a birthday week. Yup, an entire week of birthday festivities. Not just a birthday. A birthday week. And I loved every second of it.

As a child, I never really stopped to consider what went into creating those experiences. The planning, shopping, preparation, late nights, mental load, and sacrifices. I just experienced the magic. It wasn't until I became a mother myself that I began to appreciate what it takes to be the person behind the curtain, the one making it all happen.

I wonder sometimes whether my mom felt the way I do now. Whether she ever stood in the middle of a messy kitchen, exhausted from preparing something wonderful, wondering how she was going to get it all done. I don't remember that part. I remember the magic.

And maybe that's part of what makes this so complicated. I want my children to have those same beautiful memories, but I'm beginning to realize that I don't have to recreate every detail of my childhood to give them one worth remembering.

My husband, one of eight boys, grew up in a different environment. His family celebrated holidays and birthdays, of course, but from what I understand, they weren't quite the elaborate productions that mine were. Maybe that's the difference between raising boys and girls. Maybe it's the difference between having two children and eight. Or maybe it's simply that every family has its own traditions and priorities.

Whatever the reason, we came into parenthood with different experiences of what holiday celebrations looked like. And somewhere along the way, I became the magic maker in our family.

A role I genuinely love. Until I don't.

Not because I stop wanting the magic, but because sometimes I'm so exhausted from creating it that I barely have the energy to experience it.

And that makes me sad. Because the entire point was to create joy. For them, yes, but for me, too.

But Sometimes, the Extra Effort Really Is Worth It

Which brings me back to our Girl Scout camping trip.

It's an experience that's become incredibly special to my eldest daughter and me, and this year was even more exciting because my newest little Scout was finally able to join us. We had several other troops joining us and an entire weekend of high-adventure activities planned. Kayaking, archery, slingshots, hiking. You name it.

It was going to be amazing!

And then it rained.

Not a little rain. I'm talking about the kind of rain that starts and just keeps going. And going. And going. Nearly every outdoor activity we'd planned was washed out.

Thankfully, we managed to catch about an hour-long break in the rain, during which two of our incredible parent volunteers ran an archery session. My eldest daughter and I both thoroughly enjoyed it. But for the most part, we found ourselves with a whole lot of Scouts, a whole lot of rain, and a whole lot of unexpected downtime.

Which brings me to the crafts. Every year, I volunteer to plan and prepare the crafts for our camping trip. I love crafting, I love learning new skills, and I especially love sharing those skills with the girls. Typically, these activities are simply available during downtime between all the organized adventures.

Last year, we made beaded bracelets and learned how to make friendship bracelets using embroidery floss and cardboard circles. It's such a fun, easy-to-learn, almost meditative activity, and it was a huge hit! Not just with the Scouts, but with many of the parents, too.

Naturally, I wanted to bring that experience back this year. With the help of my amazing co-leader and her crafty older daughter, we prepared 40 cardboard circles ahead of time.

Forty.

Because apparently, I don't know how to do anything halfway.

But then that same co-leader and I started talking about bringing an additional craft. She found a cute idea on Pinterest, which, let's be honest, is where almost all my trouble begins.

Paracord bracelets!

They looked adorable, fun, and like something the girls would really enjoy. There was just one small problem. I had never made one before, and we were leaving in less than a week.

Oh, and did I mention I was solo parenting four children, packing for a camping trip, preparing for a weekend of potentially terrible weather, and trying to keep up with everything else that comes with everyday life?

Naturally, I decided this was a great time to learn an entirely new craft.

I ordered the supplies, watched tutorials, taught myself how to make the bracelets, and tested the project with one of our older Scouts. And voilà! We had another camping activity.

Of course, what sounds like a few simple steps actually happened in tiny, pieced-together pockets of time after the kids went to bed. A few minutes here, a little preparation there, one more thing to figure out when I was already exhausted.

By the time we left, I was already tired.

And yet, I'm so glad I made those bracelets happen.

Because when the rain washed out nearly all our planned activities, those two crafts became a huge part of the weekend. The girls spent hours making friendship bracelets and paracord bracelets. They learned new skills, created something they were proud of, and several of them told us that crafting was one of their favorite parts of the entire trip.

But the best part? Something happened that I hadn't anticipated.

One of my Scouts, a girl who enjoys crafts but doesn't necessarily love them quite as much as my daughters and some of the other girls, sat down to make a paracord bracelet. She was sitting next to another Scout who had already figured out the pattern, and it took her a little longer to get the hang of it.

I could see her getting a bit frustrated. But instead of needing me to step in, she turned to her friend for help. Her friend patiently showed her what to do, and before long, she had it figured out.

She finished her bracelet. Then she made another one for her dad. And then something wonderful happened.

She started teaching the next group of girls.

I was busy helping other Scouts get started, attaching clasps, and carefully melting the ends of the paracord, a step that required an adult. But I could see her patiently explaining the pattern to another girl, showing her how to do it, and helping her work through the tricky parts.

The confidence was written all over her face.

Here was a girl who had been struggling with the pattern just a little while earlier, now confidently teaching someone else how to do it.

And she wasn't the only one. Before long, several of the girls who had mastered the bracelets were helping their peers. The girls were teaching each other, encouraging one another, and celebrating their successes.

I had spent my evenings learning something new so I could share it with them, and now they were sharing it with one another.

It was one of those beautiful, unexpected moments when everything comes full circle.

And the story gets even better.

After the trip, her mom texted me to say that the bracelets had been her daughter's favorite part of the weekend.

Her favorite part!

This is a girl who isn't usually that into crafts. And of all the things we did that weekend, this was what she loved most.

I couldn't help but smile.

Because it wasn't really about the bracelets. It was about learning something new, working through frustration, discovering that she was capable, and then having the confidence to help someone else succeed.

And isn't that exactly what Girl Scouts is about?

Watching those girls grow in confidence, independence, and connection made every late-night tutorial and every minute of preparation feel worthwhile.

And this is precisely why figuring out what to let go of is so difficult for me.

Because sometimes the things that require the most effort become the most meaningful experiences. Sometimes the extra preparation really does make a difference. Sometimes the magic is worth making.

So how do I decide which things are worth the effort and which things I need to let go of?

The bracelets? I'd make those again in a heartbeat. But perhaps next time I'd ask a few more people to help prepare them, start a little earlier, or let the girls take on more of the preparation themselves.

Because the most meaningful part of that experience wasn't everything I did to make it happen. It was what happened when I gave the girls the opportunity to take it from there.

And perhaps there's a lesson in that for me, too.

The Bricks I'm Carrying

Lately, I've been spending time reflecting on who I am outside my roles. Outside being a mother, wife, teacher, volunteer, organizer, caregiver, and the person who seems to know where absolutely everything in our house is located.

Who am I when nobody needs anything from me? What do I enjoy? What makes me feel alive? And perhaps most importantly, how do I create more space for those things in my everyday life?

This morning, I actually had a little time to sit down and journal. Something I haven't had nearly enough time for lately. I started with a question:

If I didn't have to spend so much of my energy maintaining my life, what would I do?

And almost immediately, I felt overwhelmed.

It was as if someone had asked me to imagine setting down a backpack I'd been carrying for so long that I'd forgotten how heavy it was. Except instead of a backpack, it felt like a ton of bricks.

And I started wondering about those bricks. Which ones actually belong to me? Which ones have I picked up because someone needed me to? Which ones am I carrying because I believe I should? And which ones could I simply put down?

Of course, not every responsibility can disappear. Four children still need to be fed, loved, transported, educated, supported, and cared for. Laundry still needs to be done. Meals still need to happen. Life still requires maintenance.

But perhaps not every tradition needs to be elaborate. Perhaps not every experience needs to be extraordinary. Perhaps not every opportunity to help needs to become another commitment. And perhaps I don't need to be the person responsible for making every wonderful thing happen.

That last one is particularly difficult for me because I genuinely enjoy doing things for people. I love making someone feel special, surprising my children, creating experiences that bring people together, and sharing things I'm passionate about.

And here's something else I've been thinking about.

The funny thing is, I love helping other people. Truly. If someone needs something and I'm able to help, I'm usually one of the first people to volunteer. I don't think of them as a burden. I don't sit around calculating whether they've done enough for me to deserve my help. I just want to help.

So why is it so difficult to believe that other people might feel the same way about helping me?

I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it's because I've always taken pride in being capable. Maybe it's because I know how full everyone's lives already are. Or maybe somewhere along the way I started believing that being responsible for my children meant being able to handle everything myself.

Whatever the reason, I'm beginning to question that belief.

Because the reality is that this season of life is incredibly demanding. Four children under eight, a husband whose career requires significant travel, no family nearby, and all the normal responsibilities that come with maintaining a home and raising a family.

There are things I can simplify, certainly, but there are also very real demands on my time and energy that aren't going anywhere.

I can't organize my way out of needing more support. I can't become so efficient that I somehow create more hours in the day. And I can't keep treating my own needs as the most flexible part of our family schedule.

That's something I'm still learning.

Maybe I've Been Asking the Wrong Question

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to do it all. How to become more efficient, organize our schedules better, streamline household routines, fit one more thing into an already packed day, and somehow get everything done without feeling so overwhelmed.

And while some of those things certainly help, I'm beginning to wonder whether I've been asking the wrong question.

Maybe the question isn't How can I do it all?

Maybe it's What actually matters enough to keep doing?

What can I let go of? What can I simplify? What can I do differently? Where can I adjust my expectations of what something should look like so that it becomes realistic within the time and energy I actually have?

Because that's the piece I've been missing.

Time and energy aren't unlimited resources, and yet I've been planning my days as though they are. As though I can simply keep adding things and somehow find the capacity to make them happen.

But every yes requires something. Time, energy, attention, presence. And sometimes the thing I'm sacrificing isn't another task. It's my patience, my creativity, my ability to enjoy the moment, or my capacity to connect with my children in the way I actually want to.

And that's a trade I'm becoming less willing to make.

I don't want to stop celebrating holidays, creating traditions, organizing adventures, bringing people together, or making memories. Those things are part of who I am, and honestly, I think they're part of what makes our family ours.

But maybe I can change how I approach them.

Maybe the Halloween breakfast doesn't need another elaborate addition this year. Maybe the decorations we already have are enough. Maybe the kids can take more ownership of preparing for the celebrations they love. Maybe some traditions can be simplified, others can happen every other year, and some things we can simply skip.

Not because they aren't wonderful, but because we can't do every wonderful thing.

And that's something I need to remind myself of. There will always be more wonderful things to do than there is time to do them.

I Don't Want to Miss the Life I'm Creating

Here's what keeps coming back to me.

I spend so much time trying to create a beautiful life for my children. A childhood filled with love, wonder, traditions, adventures, connection, and belonging. I want our home to be the place they love being, the place their friends want to gather, and the place where they feel safe, welcomed, and celebrated.

I want them to look back on their childhood with the same warmth and gratitude I feel when I think about mine.

But I also want them to remember me.

Not just the things I did. Not just the holidays I created, the birthday parties, costumes, crafts, and traditions. I want them to remember that I was there to enjoy those things with them.

That I laughed, played, and listened. That I wasn't always rushing to finish something or thinking about what needed to happen next. That I had enough of myself left to give them the kind of attention and connection that can't be purchased, planned, or perfectly organized.

I sometimes wonder what my children will actually remember about these years. Will they remember the elaborate Halloween breakfasts, the decorations, the crafts, and the little surprises? I hope so. Those things brought me so much joy growing up.

But I also wonder whether some of their favorite memories will be the things I never planned. The ordinary afternoons when we laughed until our stomachs hurt. The conversations we had while driving somewhere. The times we were simply together, without a schedule or an agenda.

And I wonder how many of those moments I've missed because I was busy preparing for the next wonderful thing.

Because this is my life. Not just theirs.

I'm not simply responsible for creating their childhood. I'm living through these years alongside them, and I don't want to spend them so consumed with making everything happen that I forget to experience what's happening.

There's something else I want them to see, too. I want my children to grow up knowing that their mother is a whole person. Someone who loves them more than anything, but who also loves writing, learning, creating, exploring, teaching, and growing. Someone who cares deeply about other people but also makes room to care for herself.

I want my daughters and my son to understand that loving and caring for others doesn't have to mean losing yourself in the process.

And I suppose the only way I can really teach them that is to start living it myself.

So, How Am I Supposed to Do All of This?

I still don't know.

And I wish I could tell you that after spending some time journaling, reflecting, and questioning the expectations I've placed on myself, I suddenly have it all figured out.

I don't.

There are still four little humans who need me, a house that requires constant attention, schedules to manage, meals to make, and approximately a thousand things running through my head at any given moment.

I still have two trips to prepare for, a Halloween breakfast to pull together, and a long list of things I'd love to do if only I could find the time.

And if I'm being completely truthful, I'll probably still find myself on Pinterest tonight looking at some adorable project I absolutely do not have time for.

Because that's who I am, too.

I love creating. I love making things special. I love bringing people together and watching something wonderful unfold.

I don't want to lose that part of myself in an effort to make life more manageable.

But I also don't want to lose myself in the process of doing all those things.

Maybe the answer isn't a perfectly organized schedule, a better system, or finally figuring out how to squeeze everything in. Maybe it's learning to recognize when something is worth the effort and when it's okay to let it go. Maybe it's becoming more comfortable asking for help, accepting that good enough really can be enough, and remembering that my time and energy are finite.

And maybe it's allowing myself to be a little less responsible for making every moment special so I can actually be present for the moments that are.

I'm sure I'll get it wrong sometimes. I'll overcommit, underestimate how long something will take, and find myself wondering, once again, how I'm supposed to do all of this.

But perhaps that's okay, too.

I'm learning.

And right now, I think that's enough.

Because I don't want to stop making magic.

I just don't want to be so busy making it that I miss it.

Still figuring it out,

Kelly