“Are you ready for school?”
That was the question floating through nearly all my conversations in the days leading up to the first day of school. I’ve got a son in elementary school and another in preschool, so the question made sense.

“We’ve got all the stuff ready, and mentally he’s ready,” I’d say. “But that first day back will quite literally be a rude awakening for us.” We’d gotten used to staying up late and sleeping in. Me included.”

I’d seen the Instagram reels and read the Pinterest-perfect advice: start going through the school routine a few days before the first bell rings: practice getting up early, rehearse the morning schedule, go through the bedtime routine. In theory, it all sounded lovely. A calm transition to the academic year. But in practice? Why would I voluntarily wake up early if I had the option of another hour of sleep?

And if I’m honest, I’m a sucker for fun. I have a really hard time being disciplined enough to pull my kids inside when they’re playing with neighbors in that perfectly balanced weather—warm but not hot, breezy but not cold. Especially if it was just to practice for a pretend day of school. So, although I knew it might have been wise to ease into the school routine, I didn’t.

And yes, that first day was a rude awakening.
Still, we made it through. We survived the first week—on time each day and only forgetting to pack a water bottle once. Smooth sailing, mostly. But even though I thrive on routine, this time of year is a hard adjustment for me as well as my kids.
It’s not just mornings that feel foreign after months of late bedtimes, long evenings, and slow starts to the day. The whole rhythm shifts. I try to wedge my patchwork freelance jobs into the hours my oldest is at school, but it hasn’t fallen into place smoothly. When he gets home, our hours together feel short and rushed. Work creeps into evenings, alongside dinner prep, nighttime routines, and the occasional meeting that can’t happen during the day.
Things feel bumpy, and even a little disconnected.

Our family went from a loose, summer rhythm with plenty of time together—even if some of it was me tucked away in the office—to limited weekday hours and a scramble to check every box on the list. More than once, I’ve groaned at this rigid routine, wishing I’d taken Pinterest’s advice and been more intentional about easing into the school year and cultivating a calm transition.

But this morning, as I sat staring down my to-do list, hoping against hope most of it could be accomplished before the end of the school day, something shifted. I remembered: I may not control all the plot points in my story, but I hold the pen. Ultimately, I’m the boss of my narrative, just as you are the boss of yours.

In the past two weeks, the plotline of my life has looked like I’m the victim of a cruel taskmaster named Routine. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Instead, I’d rather step into the role of heroine in a coming-of-age story—one who learns to wield authority over her rhythms. One who chooses to see the changing season as an opportunity to refine and become more flexible. One who rewires routine into a machine that drives growth and progress—not stress or perfection. One who deepens relationships through intentionality, instead of missing connections because of rigid routine and overpacked days.
Instead of mourning what the end of summer took away, I can notice what this new season offers. A chance to reestablish rhythms that ground us. A reset button for our daily habits. A reminder that structure isn’t the enemy—it’s a tool.

Because routines aren’t prisons. When at their best, they’re soothing and stabilizing. They don’t need to be color-coded or Instagram-worthy. They don’t need to drive us toward comparison or feelings of inadequacy. They can simply be quiet rhythms that make space for what matters.

This is the story I want to write for my family this fall. One where routine feels less like a burden and more like a drumbeat—steady, grounding, guiding us forward.

So, if you’re facing this in-between, transitional time of year, maybe you need the reminder too: You get to write your story. Summer may be over, but the next season can hold just as much goodness—we just have to remember who is in charge of the story.