We're learning to dance this life. You can only plan and lead to a certain degree, then you must follow, twirl, side-step, dip, dance.
And when you realize that this is okay, and that it's part of it all, then the little bits and bobs that bite and bump are nothing to worry about, really.
Just dance in the slightly out-of-controlled-ness of it all. Don't fret about the forty mile round-trip at 2:00 a.m. for medicine for the sick one. Slide easily into freshen-all-the-laundry-because-the Man-may-be-leaving-tomorrow mode, then, in early evening slide right back out again, because he's not leaving after all (though it's good to know that the laundry is done and the bag is packed for when he does head north).
The rest of the flooring should be arriving in two days, but if it doesn't, just dance. (And maybe host a yard sale, instead?)
Ah, this life. It makes me tired. It makes me happy.
It makes me dance.