Every year when the first leaf hits the ground, I turn into a woman on a mission.

A mission to do all the fall things.

Apple picking? Already bookmarked the orchard with the best cider donuts. Pumpkin patch? I had outfits planned for the family, with coordinating flannels. Hayrides, leaf crafts, homemade everything—I was ready to give my kids the most magical autumn ever.

And then... reality.

The apple orchard was beautiful, yes—but also wildly crowded. The kids were more excited about the snack stand than the actual apples. My toddler tried to eat one straight off the tree, stem and all. And I won’t even mention the diaper change in the back of the car that will haunt me forever.

Next was the pumpkin patch, which started off strong until someone tripped in the mud, someone else dropped their mini pumpkin, and I realized I left the cute picnic lunch in the car (which we drove to the other side of the farm).

At home, I tried a cozy baking day. The kitchen looked like a cinnamon-scented disaster zone and the kids just wanted to eat the batter. Pinterest crafts turned into construction paper confetti. No one was as calm or cozy as I imagined.

Somewhere between the melted glue sticks and the third load of muddy laundry, I had to pause and laugh.

I realized something: the magic wasn’t in the perfect fall day—it was in the trying. In the muddy boots, the sticky fingers, the messy kitchen, and the five-second window where everyone was genuinely having fun before someone cried.

So we’re still doing the fall things—just not all at once. Maybe we skip a craft day and go for a slow walk instead. Maybe we buy the pumpkin bread and call it a win. Maybe we take one blurry photo where no one is looking at the camera—and it still counts.

Because these are the days we’ll remember. Not the perfect ones, but the real ones.