My alarm blares at 6 AM. Old habits die hard, even when the rhythm of your life has been violently disrupted. For years, that early morning hustle was initiated by an infant who was up and ready by 4am every day, fueled by the energy of five young boys, who now range from an excitable 3-year-old to a sleepy 11-year-old. Five boys. Can you even imagine the glorious, beautiful, absolute chaos of that? Most days, it felt like a marathon before the sun was even fully up. Now, the quiet hum of the house, which should feel like a blessing, feels more like a gut-wrenching reminder of what’s been lost.
I’m 42, a driven entrepreneur who thrives on building and creating. But before the business, before the big ideas and late-night launches, I was – and still am – a mom. A mom who loved every single second of the beautiful pandemonium that came with having a house full of boys.
We were a unit. A loud, boisterous, rough-and-tumble unit. Our adventures weren’t just vacations; they were daily expeditions. From scaling “mountains” in the backyard to building epic fortresses in the living room, every day was an opportunity for exploration. And Papi, my partner, was 100% in. He was the anchor of our wild ship, keeping the boys moving, laughing, and always, always learning. Our life was a beautiful symphony of organized chaos, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. It was my dream, finally come true.
The Unraveling: A Separation That Ripped Us Apart
Then, a few months ago, our world imploded. What started as a difficult period spiraled into a devastating separation, one that didn’t just break hearts but fractured our family in the most unimaginable way. It ripped us apart. And in that shattering, we lost the very thing that we worked so hard to create, and promised we’d never lose.
The words still feel foreign as I type them. It’s a wound that’s still raw, still bleeding. My mind struggles to reconcile the vibrant, bustling home we once shared with the agonizing silence that now fills those empty spaces. The laughter, the wrestling matches, the bedtime stories – they echo in my memory, a constant reminder of what was. The dreams we built, the future we envisioned as a family of seven, have been reduced to ashes. The mourning is deep, a physical ache that settles in my chest. I still reel from it, some days barely able to breathe under the weight of the grief.
Leaning into Faith: My Anchor in the Storm
In the darkest moments, when the tears flow unchecked and despair threatens to swallow me whole, I lean into my faith. It’s not just a cliché; it’s my lifeline. The belief that God will provide, that He has a plan even when mine has crumbled, is the only thing that keeps me from succumbing to the overwhelming sense of loss. I pray. I pray for my boys, all five of them. And I pray for strength, for peace, for healing. I pray for a path forward, even when I can’t see beyond the next hour.
This isn’t to say it’s easy. Far from it. There are days when doubt creeps in, whispers of “why me?” and “how can this ever be okay?” But then I remember the scripture, the promises of comfort and provision, and I cling to them. It’s a constant battle, a daily recommitment to trust in something bigger than my pain. My faith isn’t just a crutch; it’s the solid ground beneath my feet when everything else feels like quicksand.
Forging a New Normal: One Step at a Time
With MJ, Matthew, and Jack by my side, we’re slowly, painstakingly, creating a new normal. It’s not the normal I ever envisioned. It’s a quieter normal, a different kind of chaos. There are three boys instead of five, and the house feels simultaneously too big and too empty.
The boys are resilient, more so than I ever gave them credit for. MJ, at 11, has stepped up in ways that make my heart both ache and swell with pride. He’s my rock, my sounding board, and he helps me keep Matthew and Jack entertained and feeling safe. Matthew, 9, still has that mischievous glint in his eye, but there’s a new thoughtfulness there, a quiet understanding of the shifts around him. And Jack, my sweet 3-year-old, just wants to play. His infectious laughter is a constant reminder that joy can still exist, even amidst the sorrow.
Our adventures are still happening, just on a different scale. We still build forts, but they’re often cozier, more intimate. We still explore, but sometimes it’s just a walk around the block, a chance to breathe in the fresh air and reconnect. I’ve had to consciously shift my mindset, to find beauty in the smaller moments, to celebrate every tiny victory in a season of life that left me feeling so defeated.
One of the biggest challenges has been balancing my work with being fully present for my boys. As an entrepreneur, the drive to build and create is ingrained in me. But now, it’s also a necessity. I’m the primary provider for my three boys, and the pressure is real. But it’s also a motivator.
Every late night, every early morning, is fueled by the desire to give them stability, to create a secure future for us, even as our present feels so uncertain. I’ve had to become more intentional with my time, more ruthless with my schedule, and more forgiving of myself when things don’t go perfectly. Being The Chaos Planner has truly become my lifesaver, helping me to compartmentalize, prioritize, and make the most of every precious minute.
The Chaos Planner Goes On!
So, while it may have taken a few months to get my feet back under me, I still am the same person I always was, building the life my boys deserve. I refuse to share the dirty, the nitty gritty, the failings. And I refuse to point fingers or place blame, and I refuse to live in the anger and resentment that comes with losing all of your dreams in fell swoop I choose to look forward, to look inward, to change any nagging part of myself that holds me back and continue to evolve into the best human I can be, because God desires that and my boys are worthy of it.
I may no longer have a family of seven, and I may not be a mom of five boys. My heart has its permanent empty spaces, and the grief is a constant companion. But life, in its relentless forward motion, continues. And managing three boys? Let me tell you, it’s still chaos. A different kind of chaos, perhaps, a more poignant one, but chaos nonetheless.
So yes, The Chaos Planner goes on. It’s not just a tool for my business; it’s a testament to my ongoing journey. It’s a reminder that even when your world feels like it’s falling apart, you can still find ways to bring order, to create structure, and to make space for the beauty that still exists. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
So, my posts may be a bit more heavy, but a lot more real. And you bet you can look forward to some of the same amazing adventures with my babies! Until next time, keep planning, keep dreaming, and keep moving forward. You’ve got this. We’ve got this.