At this point, I don’t even know how I’m still alive. It’s been one of those weeks—the kind that makes you question if time is real or if we’ve all just been living the same chaotic Monday on repeat. The clock just struck midnight on Friday morning and I'm not too sure whether to call it a night or aluta-continua? Both my kids are sick (because why wouldn’t they time their immune system meltdowns perfectly?), I have deadlines flying at me every 48 hours like heat-seeking missiles, and my daily classes are a blur of words that I think are English but might actually be gibberish at this point. My brain? Completely unresponsive. My body? Moving purely out of muscle memory. My spirit? Somewhere hovering over my body, watching the madness unfold like a reality show. The Art of Mom Survival Each morning, I wake up with a pep talk that sounds something like: You got this. You are strong. You are capable. And by 10 AM, I’m bargaining with the universe: Okay but what if I just lie d...