Every night my wife and I huddle.
Like Peyton Manning calling an audible, we size up our calendars for the next day and decide how to deploy.
"Where are you tomorrow?" I ask.
"Brainerd," she says, "but don't forget I have a doctor's appointment after work."
"OK, and I have an interview for a column in Dalton at noon," I say, "but if the traffic isn't too bad, I should be able to swing by and pick the boys up from school at 3 o'clock and then get back to work."
"OK, and I should be home by 5:30," she says, "but there's soccer in two places. One has practice at 5 o'clock in Red Bank and the other has a game in Soddy-Daisy at 6 o'clock. Should I see if I can find them a carpool?"
"Sure, and then I'll try to do the pick-up at Soddy-Daisy," I say, "and we'll grab a pizza on the way home. That should leave him at least 30 minutes for homework."
And so it goes.
We collapse into bed at 9:30 at night, then grope for the snooze button every morning at 5:45. You need a degree in logistics just to run a modern family.
My wife and I both work outside the home, and we don't have the luxury of grandparents or other close relatives living nearby. Suburban families like ours without a stay-at-home spouse struggle just to connect the dots.
Just the other day in Sunday school, several of our friends lamented that they are in the same boat. Some said they couldn't find even 10 minutes a day to read, just to mentally unwind. Ten minutes.
Once in a while my wife will say something hopeful like, "Let's talk about next Thursday."
At that point, I usually laugh, knowing that pre-planning several days in advance is futile. Between now and next Thursday there will be tribulations hail, locusts, swine flu, something that will derail our plans.
The holiday season, which should provide a break from our crazy schedules, is actually worse. When you layer holiday responsibilities on our already-frantic family life, it's like wearing a wool coat over a sunburn.
In just one mid-day text blast, I recently sent my wife reminders about three people taking up money for teacher gifts, two save-the-dates memos and an elf in a Christmas tree.
Sometimes, as we rush to get here and there, mistakes are made. Apparently, while dressing my younger son for school one day last week, I committed at least three fashion misdemeanors. Who knew that combining a blue sweater two sizes too big for him, neon-green sweatpants and bright red sneakers was not a great idea? Who wants to blend, anyway?
My greatest fear is that, during this crazy holiday season, we will get our signals crossed and actually strand a child somewhere, "Home Alone"-style. In fact, my wife and I met at the AT&T phone store after work the other night. When we finished shopping, there was a brief discussion about whether my younger son would ride home with me or in his mother's Venza (where he eventually landed).
I realized halfway home that I never actually saw my son get into his mom's car, and he certainly wasn't in the back seat of my Camry. For all I knew he was standing outside the phone store alone.
"Oh well," I thought, "AT&T's got our numbers."
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.