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 think too much about at the time. I mean, why would I, right?

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 we love to hate.
We have ours. And I’m pretty sure for him, we’re that neighbor.  

‘Cause this dude 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, will never look like a golf course, but it still looks normal...ish.

Weeks after closing on our house, I came home to find said 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 to say the least. Despite evidence to the contrary, I consider myself a pretty private person. In theory, anyway.

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 over there.

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

Whatever. I just smile and wave back.

It’s a pretty fun dynamic.

One day I came home from a long day to find the neighbors outside. From their porch, the wife flat-out asked me if I worked a 'real job'. Which is a weird question to ask when you're lugging in groceries and your work backpack, but I digress...

I’m like…ma'am...of course I work.

Those systems and routines I mentioned before all come with loose ends and ‘quick errands’ that “shouldn’t take long’. Yeah, sure.

Plus my real job.

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.

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 (which is a story for another day).

That being said, it’s an interesting journey. I love shocking him with Gen Z slang out of nowhere. I cheer him on at sporting events, and I get a kick out of seeing him get excited when I make the foods he loves most for dinner

I love that he was oddly focused on making sure we were there for his high school b-ball parent night. Standing center court with him, I kind of understood that boy-mom energy in that moment.

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. We won't shut up.

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 price.

I’ve watched that cost get passed down through generations, 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.

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 the neighbor guy is about his lawn.

Heather Papovich is the voice behind Unfinished Business. She's seen some things. She'll tell you about them.