If you’ve known me for more than five minutes, you know I live by my calendar. It’s not just a planner — it’s my Bible, my life map, and my emotional support spreadsheet. I color-code, I plan ahead, and if something’s not on the schedule, it’s basically not real.

So imagine my stress level when my mom landed in the hospital and my siblings decided we all need to “take turns sitting with her.”

Now, before anyone clutches their pearls — she’s fine. She’s getting great care from an entire team of professionals who actually know what they’re doing. The woman is being treated better than most people at a five-star resort.

Meanwhile, my siblings and I are out here acting like we need to take shifts in case she suddenly decides to join the Hospital Olympics. Spoiler alert: she’s not going anywhere.

The thing is, I’ve got a craft fair coming up next weekend, and that means I need to be creating — not sitting in a hospital room pretending to enjoy watching nine hours of nonstop news coverage. Nine. Hours. I don’t even like watching nine minutes of the news. I can only listen to so many “breaking” stories about things that broke three days ago before I start questioning my life choices.

But there I sit, smiling, nodding, pretending I’m not slowly dying inside while she argues with the TV. I could be home making candles, painting signs, or doing literally anything that doesn’t involve election updates.

And when I say, “Hey, my schedule’s packed,” my siblings look at me like I just said I’m skipping Christmas. Listen, I love Mom. I’ll visit. I’ll call. I’ll even bring snacks. But she’s being well cared for — by actual trained professionals — while I’m over here trying to figure out if I can make fifty more gnomes before Friday.

So no, I’m not heartless. I’m just scheduled. And if loving my mom and respecting my calendar at the same time is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.