Every day, I have Big Ideas about how I want my day to flow. Coffee while the kids eat a nutritious breakfast, a brisk walk (with all three kids and the dog) to drop my eldest off at Kindergarten, followed by a slower trot to the park next to the preschool, where I allow the last two children to play, and the dog hangs out, peacefully enjoying the scene. The grateful and exercised children will allow me to wash hands and wipe faces, and my son will enter preschool with a spring in his step.

The dog, my youngest and I stroll home, enjoying the warm morning, and then I tidy the house while she plays quietly with a single, silent toy. The other children are fetched, on foot, at the appointed times, and whisked home to a delicious snack, and cooperative play that respects the environment and teaches phonics. The children set the table, and sit at my elbow, eager to help prepare dinner.

With the arrival of the hubs, the children visit sedately with their Daddy, chatting about their day, one at a time. They are wearing pants. I serve a beautiful meal, and cheerfully (shut up) wash the dishes while the hubs bathes the kids. We snuggle them up, read stories, give kisses, lay out clothes for the morning and put them to bed.

Then, of course, I quickly pack lunches, set the table for breakfast, pause to sing a duet with a bluebird, and then spend a wonderful restful evening with my man, and go to bed at a sane hour.

*crickets chirp*

Is it any wonder I woke myself laughing this morning? Bah! Bwahahaha!

Actually, the laughing was due to another whack-ass dream, involving a new-employee hazing ritual at LucasFilm where I had to perform a poem by singing it. The other newbies were practicing in the lunch room, but not me. I chatted up a receptionist, who informed me that she was a poet, borrowed one of her poems to 'sing' and then headed out to Payless Shoe Source to score some new sandals for my gig. I woke up when, in my dream, my off-pitch stylings of the receptionist's hate poem for her ex took a major turn for the worse as I decided to go for the big finish and belted out a high note that had the timbre and tone of a horny wildebeast.

I sat up in bed barking out a "Hah!" and my sleepy husband opened one eye before rolling over and snuggling back in.

I do have good intentions, but it seems that my reality is tainted by my chaotic nature, and The Lazy, which has a life all its own (and frankly, The Lazy's life is probably more organized than mine.) In fact, every day is a fresh slate for me. I get a little coffee in me and then clap my hands together and decide that Today is A New Day. Fresh start for me, yessiree. And then I get on the phone, or one of my kids is having an issue, or I have to run errands... and suddenly my big plan for serene and orderly achievement is trampled under my rushing feet.

Many morning find us screaming out the door at five minutes to first bell, and most evenings are a whirlwind of half-eaten dinners and bedtime revolts. I can laugh about it, I own the chaos, but it is wearing me down. Too bad I'm not like a rock. You know, the more you tumble and toss them with abrasive things, the more they shine like gems. Me, I'm just getting banged up.

I need to find the zen. I have the Jen, but she's a nutbar. No, I need to become Zenny.

Wow. That's a big plan even for me. But then again, it's only noon. More coffee, and then world domination. Or laundry. It's a toss up.