When Life Laughs at Your Plans… (Featuring Poison Oak, PMS-Level Emotions, and a Very Dramatic 7-Year-Old)

Yesterday was supposed to be one of those tightly planned, beautifully orchestrated days—the kind where I wake up, drink hot coffee, and feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m doing this whole life-business-motherhood thing right.

And then… I had children.

Specifically, my children.

Here’s what happened:

August—my firstborn, my sensitive soul, my budding dramatic actress—acquired a raging case of poison oak that, according to her, was “literally destroying her will to live.”

And listen… it was bad. Like, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy bad. But the timing? Impeccably awful.

Yesterday morning, as I’m mentally running through my non-negotiable schedule (you know the kind: appointments stacked on appointments stacked on the fantasy that I will be uninterrupted), August decides she cannot go to school. Simply impossible. The rash! The itching! The sheer tragedy of it all!

I wish I could tell you I handled this with grace and maternal serenity.

But no.

I threw a full-grown-woman tantrum.

I told her—in my most frazzled, “please not today” voice—to “go talk to your dad because MY day is non-negotiable.”

Not exactly my finest moment.

Not the parenting content that ends up on Pinterest.

But if we’re being honest, probably the most relatable thing I’ve ever written.

The Reality Behind the Reaction

In my head, it went like this:

Why am I always the backup plan?

Why does everyone else get to have their day protected but me?

Why does the universe wait until I feel organized to toss a fireball at my face?

It was irritation, it was overwhelm, it was mom-guilt, it was PMS, it was all of it mashed together into one big messy moment.

What Actually Happened Next

After our little mutual meltdown (hers was louder, mine was more inward and dramatic), we took a beat.

I remembered she’s seven.

She remembered I love her.

We both remembered that poison oak doesn’t care about my Google Calendar.

And then… we pivoted.

Alex stepped in where he could. I reshuffled what could be reshuffled. I accepted that sometimes motherhood hands you a plot twist with terrible timing and zero warning.

No, the day didn’t look how I planned it.

But it ended up being oddly lovely in its own chaotic way.

We got her calmed down.

We got the rash under control.

We even laughed about her “will to live” returning.

I still got work done—just not in the straight-line way I mapped out.

And I found myself grateful—again—that I built a career that lets me bend without breaking.

The Bigger Truth I Keep Coming Back To

Real estate, motherhood, partnership, running businesses, raising three daughters—it’s a constant dance of shifting roles and shifting expectations.

Some days I’m the one who can pivot.

Some days Alex does.

Some days we both lose it and regroup.

But always, always, we figure it out.

And maybe that’s what doing it “right” actually looks like. Not perfection. Not flawless boundaries. Not days that go exactly as planned.

Just the willingness to adapt… and laugh… and try again tomorrow.

Even when someone’s will to live has been temporarily stolen by poison oak.