A Poem for the Mom Who's Barely Holding the List Together
Somewhere around the third form of the week, the one that appeared after you were sure the folder was finally complete, I sat down and wrote this.
I didn’t have it all figured out, but it turns out the hardest part of back to school was never really the supply list or the forms themselves. It's trying to live up to that ‘super mom’ image. Everyone else see the results, but moms are the ones quietly carrying the burden of remembering, following up, coordinating, organizing, and communicating.
The juggling act is exhausting. The fear of dropping a ball is nerve-wracking.
To all the fellow moms out there… this poem is for you.
The list, still growing
Summer quietly passes.
Slower pace, warm days, laughter.
Then all at once, A new school year approaches.
Trying not to say the word out loud. School.
Allowing them to hold onto every moment of perceived freedom.
The clock, ticking. The list, growing.
The portal changed again.
New login.
New app.
Somewhere, a supply list exists.
The class assignment list, handed over on the last day of school,
entrusted to a teenagerfor safekeeping.
Ambitious.Optimistic, even.
Now it's gone. Last seen sometime in June.
Shoes that fit in spring don't fit in August.
Growth spurts don't check a calendar.
A haircut, squeezed in.
Lunch. An ongoing search for ideas.
A daily negotiation.
A small diplomatic mission, every single day.
Two kids. Two schools. Two schedules.
A color coded calendar.
Careful coordination.
Organization skills worthy of a resume.
A new appreciationfor air traffic controllers.
A passing thought about cloning yourself.
Just when the last form gets signed, another one appears.
There's always one more.
Then it arrives.
Morning of.
Someone wants a sign.
Chalkboard lettering, first day of school.
Maybe just fingers held up,counting the grade.
Either way works.
A photo still requires cooperation.
If they aren't too cool.
If nobody's crying about a shirt.
If anxious feelings are in control.
Then the door closes.
The house goes quiet.
And somewhere in that quiet, a thought arrives:
All the paperwork still coming home.
Back to school night.
Homework tears.
But here's the thing.
You are not doing this alone.
You are doing better than you think.
Give yourself grace.
Take a breath.
Notice the pride.
The excitement of something new.
A fresh start.
How much they've grown, even just this summer.
Stay here, in this part.
One day you'll wish you could have it back…
the forms, the lunches, the chaos of all of it.
So today, just breathe. You're doing great.
The part nobody warns you about
What I keep coming back to is that the exhausting part was never just one task. It was carrying all of them, at once, in my head, while still being expected to show up calm.
That's why I built the Back to School Mental Load Reset. Not another color-coded planner to maintain, there are enough of those already, but a small deck of 60-second calm cards with real breathing techniques, plus a simple brain dump and vision page for everything else running through your head. Something to reach for in the middle of a loud morning, not one more system to keep up with.
If that's useful to you, it's there. If it's not, I hope the poem still did what I wrote it to do: let you feel, for a minute, a little less alone in it.
You're doing better than you think!