Plans

The Man and I have a penchant for spontaneity and adventure. We have delightful memories from the myriad last-minute treks and trips during the 18 years we've known each other. And I've decided our many mishaps along the way sweeten the stories immensely.

But in recent years it's become harder to live life the way we used to. Kids and grown-up responsibilities have a way of changing things. Last week, however, a spontaneity front came through our region and carried us off to faraway family for a snow-filled weekend.

It was fun to feel free and crazy, to look at each other repeatedly and ask, Are we really doing this? It was fun to talk to my husband in the dark, early-morning quiet while the kids slept, lulled to sleep by engine hum against their I'm-going-to-stay-awake-til-4-am wishes. It was fun to giggle and talk about dreams and what-if's while we munched on too many salt and vinegar chips and drank Coke.

It was fun until our van died on an Indiana interstate exit at 4 a.m. At that point, "free" and "crazy" was not fun. It was a regrettable whim.

As the tow-truck pulled us to a nearby dealership and we prayed and I wiped my leaky eyes, Blondie busted out with an impromptu remake of a recent hit: Van broke down. Van broke down. Lookin' like a fool with your van broke down. Thank the Lord for those moments when tears give way to comic relief. I laughed until I cried. Again.

So, it's one of those weekends turned weeks when you simply make do, when you embrace adventure of a different sort.

I'd like to say I'm good at that. I did, after all, just do a little series on the topic. But this "making do" is harder...and I'm no good at it. I prefer the kind that involves spray paint.

After a weekend of snow and sledding and hanging out {everything I had planned}, I am now faced with the reality of a week that is not at all what I'd had in mind...

A week away from home and husband, a week of doing school without our books and supplies, a week of hunting for a new van, a week of hoping that we are not imposing entirely too much on another {very gracious} family...whose plans we have now trampled all over.

{I am beginning to feel like the Cousin Eddie of the family: Now don't you going fallin' in love with that RV, Clark. We're takin' it with us when we leave here next month.}

Plans gone awry have turned me to mush. I fight back tears as I meander through Kroger and munch on illegal amounts of sample cheese. I dab eyes as I can't seem to find a body-wash poof {because exfoliating makes everything better} and pay too much for diapers. My mind is clearly elsewhere as I try to remove Cupcake from the shopping cart four times and finally yank off his snow boots to get him out...only to discover that he's still buckled in.

After the dust of spontaneity has settled and the adrenaline of crisis has worn off, I realize that I do not like having to alter my plans so much. I selfishly grip my oh-so-commonplace agenda like my toddler grips his favorite toy and when it's ripped from my hands, I fall apart.

I'm realizing that spontaneity is fun...but only when I'm the one planning it.

And in my rare moments of clarity, I know that this mishap too will one day "sweeten the story."