The scrambles can all go together in one pan.  The sunny sides need to cook separately.  I have enough space on the cooktop to manage three orders of home fries; sausage and pancakes on the griddle.  That leaves one order of over-medium, two over-easies, the oatmeal, and three more orders of home fries plus the ham and the salads.  Get the home fries on first because they’ll take the longest.  Get Bob to prep the salads while I pull the sausage and mix the eggs.

My brain is learning to do a new kind of math; thinking backward in time, then thinking forward, then analyzing space and tool constraints in order to figure out how to put forward the maximum number of plates of food at the hottest temperature, the highest quality and the shortest wait.

“Ula!”  I shout from the griddle.  She pops her head into the pass-through window and meets my gaze.  “You’ve got to help me manage expectations!”  

Manage expectations is my catch phrase of the weekend as the third party of six grabs a table.  No matter how much new kitchen math I push my brain to compute, I can’t get orders and all the extra sides out to a table simultaneously and still meet my standards.  I don’t have enough help in the back, I don’t have enough space in my kitchen, I don’t have enough cooking capacity.  

Ula gives a firm nod.  She knows what this means.  She turns on her skates and speeds over to the waiting table to remind them that I will not be sending everyone’s plates out at the same time.  Big parties need to be fed in stages.

I draw a deep breath.  Expectations managed.  Now I need to focus on doing the best job possible.  Then I remind myself that this is supposed to be fun.  

I’ve been reminding myself of that a lot lately.  This is a growth year. In addition to the new Tentrr enterprise, we’ve been developing and marketing our frozen prepared foods, ramping up to be ready when (if?) our beer and wine license comes through, and preparing to go from one employee to four.   We need to increase gross income enough to cover the need for more help. 

I swore when we opened the cafe four summers ago that we were done growing.  I’ve always argued that growth is counter to sustainability.

But businesses are much like children.  They come into being for two reasons:  to manifest their unique magic in the world; and to teach their parents all the ways they’ve been wrong-headed.  

The aim of this phase of growth is to enable Dad more freedom from the farm, and to make sure Bob and I aren’t taking on anything extra.

HA!  

I don’t know when the last time was that I saw a complete day off.  Three years ago I learned how important real time off is:  it reduces injury, helps the brain engage in better problem-solving, renews energy, sparks creativity…and just makes life feel more worth while.  

But lately, “days off” are just becoming “alternative work days.” I use the time to sit and catch up with bookkeeping, or we take trips to the bank, and the grocery stores and farm stands;  we make runs into the capital district area to deliver and pick up products; we schedule meetings with suppliers, technicians and the accountant; we see to repairs and doctors’ appointments.   Oh.  And then there’s laundry (I’m down to my last clean tank top, and I’ve been wearing it in this heat for four days straight.  Does that still count as clean?).   I actually tried to trick myself into believing that my afternoon appointment for a dental cleaning was a spa day, because I got to just lie still in a chair for an hour.  

My body is sending the warning signs.  For me, they come in the form of burns in the kitchen.  My wrists still bear the scars from the last time I needed to learn to take time off.  This week, my arms are dappled with all new marks.  Three burns so far this week.  It’s as though the universe is literally spelling it out to me:  this is what happens when you play with fire.

But I shake my fist at the universe.  This is all under control, dammit!  It’s slow!  It’s planned!  It’s methodical!  Everything is absolutely necessary!  

The universe, mocking me for certain, just sends one phrase bouncing around my scattered brain:

Manage expectations.  Manage expectations.  Manage expectations.

WTF, UNIVERSE????  I’m TOTALLY managing expectations:

I manage the expectations of my customers:  “Parties of six or more will have to receive their meals in stages.” 

“If you see a party of six or more come in, choose your food fast and get your order in ahead, or you’ll be waiting forever.”

I meet with staff regularly to manage expectations there: “No! We can’t make that purchase.  Payroll just doubled and I think you’d prefer a paycheck.”

I’ve managed Mom and Dad’s expectations:  “We don’t have the cash to pay you this month, so I am going to award you more shares in the business.  Let’s call it shit-coin.”  

I’ve managed the kids’ expectations: “Don’t you DARE step foot in this office!  I’m trying to focus!”  

I’ve managed Bob’s expectations:  “I’m pretty sure if we just get through to December 31, we’ll be able to restore balance.”  

And still, the universe chants….

Manage expectations.  Manage expectations.  Manage expectations.

And while I’m out in the woods yesterday, I get what the universe is saying.

I’m managing everyone’s expectations….except my own.

Burns on my wrists.  Sore arms.  Too much fatigue to visit with friends.  Fantasies about disappearing into the woods for three days straight.  

But here’s the thing, I send my thoughts back out to the universe.  I. Don’t.  Know. HOW.

I thought I did.  For the past three years I had it all under control.  I had so much energy, so much room to play, I wrote an entire new book manuscript.  But here we are, in the throes of all the planned changes, and the only thing I can do is draw a deep breath, keep my schedule and to-do list at hand at all times, and keep my eye on the prize:  December 31, the point at which everything new should be operational. 

And I get that the universe says I need to rest.  But those bills are really piling up.  And I have unfulfilled orders and a pile of emails I haven’t responded to.

I would like to think I am wiser than all this.  Instead, I feel like an annoying straight A philosophy student:  who knows all the answers from the reading, but who can’t apply one bit of it to her own life.  

Bob and I come back from the walk and I sit down at the computer to start work.

And the computer doesn’t turn on.  

Bob goes into the kitchen to start breakfast.  And the stove doesn’t turn on.

Power failure.

The universe has removed my choice in the matter.

Bob, the girls and I head to the cafe to fix our breakfast and tie up loose ends, then pack ourselves off to a waterfall for the afternoon.  I plunge into the icy water and feel the deep relief from my newest burn.  We all look at each other and laugh.  The roar of the water is too loud for us to talk; too loud for me to think.  All we can do is laugh, smile and play.

We come home and sit on the screen porch.  Bob plays guitar as I sit on the glider and watch the sunlight spread golden light through the forest before it sets for the night.  I don’t worry about cash flow or the bookkeeping.  I just watch the fading light and listen to the music until I’m ready to go up to bed.

I know this business is here to teach me so many things; and learning to manage my own expectations is among those lessons.  I’m trying.  Really.  But until then, I lie back on my pillow and give thanks that the universe is willing to intercede when I can’t figure it out.