SNAFU: Situation Normal, All F*ked Up

My grandfather taught me that word when I was young, meaning that everything around us is on fire, but we’re not stopping. Carry on.

Basically: this is fine.

As a kid, I thought that just applied to life in the military, but that’s pretty much life in a nutshell, isn’t it?

Definitely applies to this month, for sure.

Once upon a time, The Balkan Storm and I lived in a cabin in the woods. We had peace and quiet and a taste of an idyllic, empty-nest, simple life.

We had a predictable schedule built for two; he’d go to work, and I’d work in my office. He’d come home for lunch, then again for dinner.

We’d sit outside to unwind and enjoy the view. On the weekends, we’d find a new restaurant for dinner. Maybe some live music and dancing.

On Sunday mornings, we’d sleep in a bit before breakfast with bacon as a treat.

Simple. Predictable and easy to feel safe in.

And then, without hesitation, we gave it up for someone else’s addictions and kids who needed rescuing. When their own grandmother wouldn’t do it, we built a ‘sensible house’ in the ‘sensible suburbs’ and did what needed to be done.

I would make that choice again, no doubt, but it came with trade-offs I didn’t really grasp at the time.

Suburban life runs on routines, too. There are schedules and expectations, and people to keep it all moving.

I adore systems; for me, they give me the room I need to be creative, as dichotomous as that might sound.

But something else about suburban life – it ain’t always so predictable.

Now, we all have that one neighbor, the one you love to hate.
We have ours. And I’m pretty sure for him, we’re that neighbor as well.  

‘Cause this neighbor is a case study in either control issues or lawn obsession.

His lawn looks very nice. And it should, given the sheer amount of work he puts into it. It’s his thing, apparently.

Less great when your home office is on the first floor, directly in the line of fire for the cacophony of every machine buzz and lawn-side conversation. Which is near-daily most seasons.

Our own yard, with an active family and an energetic dog, is never going to look like a golf course, but it looks normal.

Weeks after closing on the house, I came home to find neighbor and his wife standing in my driveway asking who exactly lived here. Which cars were whose, and who was coming and going.  

After years of having no close neighbors, it was…off-putting.

There were multiple intrusions on our personal authority until, at some point, he started having “conversations” with other neighbors about us, who were kind (and amused) enough to inform us that a weird narrative was forming.  

Our routines (if you were observing them like a creeper) didn’t help. They were unpredictable on purpose. Sometimes we were all gone. Sometimes we weren’t.

At the time, I had actual problems to deal with so if they weren’t talking directly to me, I had no time or interest in entertaining…whatever the hell was going on.

But I never really found out because it’s always smiles and waves, like butter wouldn’t melt.

Whatever. I’m a great actress too, so I smile and wave back.

It’s a fun dynamic.

Eventually, they worked up the gumption to ask me flat out if I worked.

I’m like…ma'am- most days, I do nothing but work.

Because those systems and routines I mentioned before? They all come with loose ends, those ‘quick errands’ that “shouldn’t take long’ that all add up, on top of general household care and maintenance. Plus weekly shopping and meal planning.

Plus my actual job.

Plus, applying for a new job (AI has sparked a career change; I take it as a sign of better things to come, but my wallet is crying bullshit).

Plus deadlines, platform upgrades, outreach, and marketing. And everything else I had no idea I needed to know and do to get these things off the ground.

All of it is work behind the work. It isn't fun, it isn't even recognized, but it's what serious people do to turn a 'hobby' into something special and real.

Or, you know, securing some more income in the meantime. (Open to suggestions. Very open.)

Either way, I'm not messing around.

And when my husband is out there working his tail off making a living to support our family, all those other loose ends are on me.

(mutters) do I work…

At present, the custody battle is over. We’re raising a teenage boy, and having raised only a daughter, I don’t have that ‘boy-mom’ energy that some women make into their whole personality (a piece for another day).

That being said, it’s an interesting journey. I love shocking him with Gen Z slang out of nowhere that he doesn’t know I know. I cheer him on at sporting events, and it gives me a kick when he gets excited that I made the foods he loves most at dinnertime.

I love that he was oddly focused on making sure we were there for his high school b-ball parent night. We walked him out onto the court, and for a moment, I kind of understood that boy-mom energy.

I also love watching my daughter grow as an adult, doing her part to help support the system we built, even as she navigates her path to maturity and independence. She has a heart of gold and a mischievous spark that will keep her forever young.

That, too, is a fun dynamic. Ask us about anything Marvel-related when we're in the same room together. You'll see it.

That being said, I don’t intend to live in the burbs forever.  My therapist said we’ve become the ‘landing spot’ for people in crisis, and while that sounds honorable, it comes at a cost.

I’ve watched that cost get passed down through other generations of my family, and I’m not interested in repeating it.

Right now, my job is raising independent contributors to society. Future husbands and wives, mothers and fathers. Adults who won’t turn to substances to cope with their lives.

I’ll always be the safe place. But I get to have a life, too.

For all the curveballs and the uncertainty that is our life, we’ve always found a way to make it work. It’s not because we’re particularly smart or special, but because we’ve developed patterns that work.

When the SNAFUs hit, we adjust.

And Sunday breakfast is very much still a thing. Some systems are sacred.

I’m as passionate about my bacon as neighbor guy is to his lawn.

Related Reads:

• The Silence Was a Choice - When keeping the peace eventually costs more than just the truth.
• The Truth About Happily Ever After - A look at love after trauma, second chances, and what happens after the honeymoon is over.
• Dirty Work - Are you that person who always fixes things when they fall apart? Read on.

Heather Papovich is a long-form essayist and cultural writer whose work examines real life through the lens of popular culture.

She is the founder of Unfinished Business, an independent digital publication blending personal narrative with cultural commentary, currently read in 33 verified countries.

Her writing focuses on reinvention, emotional truth, and the many ways film and long-running franchises help people navigate identity, connection, and meaning.