I disagree with the cliche that “time heals all wounds,” but I will say that some things become more routine over time. As we were getting ready to head out the door for church yesterday morning, it dawned on me that overseeing five boys getting dressed, brushing teeth and having breakfast has become – dare I say – the norm.

I’ve resisted saying “normal” for more than eight months now, but today marks 90 days since our household officially grew by two. Three months is long enough for the honeymoon period to end but not quite long enough for there to be no comparisons to “the way things were.”

(For clarification, I gained custody of the boys a little over four months ago, but most legaleze purposes start counting when the children begin actually living under your roof.)

Bedtime is much better than it had been, and that alone is enough reason to celebrate. Mornings are a pretty well-oiled machine with the occasional hiccup. We try to have folders signed and check homework before bedtime so that everyone is set to go in the morning. The two oldest come home after school now, so they have their work finished before I even get home from work, most days.

Paper is my nemesis; it always has been. The boys bring home stacks of worksheets, art and flyers that it can easily overrun the study. This weekend, I labeled clear tubs for everyone to pick & choose if they have something reallyreally special that they want to keep. Otherwise, it goes in the blue tub, which is for recycling.

I also have five small, plastic laundry hampers for each one to keep his backpack &/or Awanas bag for safe keeping. We’ve been using those for a few weeks now, and they seem to be working pretty well. The larger backpacks are a tight squeeze, so I’m debating how long we’ll use the hamper system, but it’s a start.

Much of my sanity is derived from trial & error. It doesn’t necessarily have to work perfectly the first time, but it makes me feel better to at least TRY to keep it organized. So, when people say they don’t know how I do it, I just shrug, smile politely and say: “one day at a time.” Any other way of trying to handle things is a recipe for anxiety.