“The best, perfect way of doing things: There is no such thing,” my therapist texts me. “There is only trial and error.”

I want to throw up.

//

While cleaning the kids’ bathroom I encounter the usual suspects: Marshall and Skye toothbrushes bristle down on the cold tile, a capless toothpaste tube leaking child-approved anticavity gel, even wet Q-tips and a size 3T sticker disintegrating in the sink.

But this is a new one.

“Aidan, what is this?!” I scream loud enough to interrupt his imaginary rescue efforts in the loft. “AIDAN!!”

“What, Mama?” he shuffles in.

“What. Is. This??” I roar as I thrust my discovery into his face: a tiny Tylenol cup meant for accurate dosing (that I have been trying to find for weeks) is filled with soapy water and, what is this,  a metal screw?

I don’t know why I’m seething, why my jaw is clenched and my stomach sour.

“It’s an EX-pery-ment,” Aidan beams, pronouncing the word like it’s a former brand of spearmint gum.

“A what? Where did you find the screw?” His shoulders slump as he realizes I am not impressed or amused.

“I don’t know.” His eyes dart away and I force myself to take a breath.

One-two-three-four in. One……..two……..three……..four out.

I soften as I picture his kindergarten science class, five-year-old researchers masked and wiggly, disassembling defunct coffee pots and erecting structures out of toothpicks and mini-marshmallows.

“What are you testing?” I ask.

“I wanted to see what happens to the screw in soap and water,” the twinkle returns to his eyes.

“And was your hypothesis right?” I query, noticing a control group of dry screws huddled by the baseboards.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Nothing changed. But that’s okay!”

He scampers off to save Adventure Bay as I ponder his scientific method. To him, science is a game like Paw Patrol or hide and seek. There is no pressure for right results. There is only play.

I toss the wet Q-tips and scrub the toothpaste, but leave his soapy beaker on the counter, wondering what he’ll discover in the morning.

//

I tuck my kids into bed and replay my workday. I am there with my kids, but instead of noticing their sweet faces or delighting in the familiar routine of books and teeth and snuggles, I rewind and relive every anxious moment from my day at work. I scrutinize my students’ facial expressions. So and So seemed bored, that question about too much homework means I must be giving the wrong workload. I simmer in the memory of the silence when I tried to elicit a response to a question they should have known the answer to so I just kept rambling and said something stupid and then ran out of time at the end. We didn’t get to _____ or _____ or _____.  I should have explained ____ differently. I should have been more prepared. I should have known that activity would take longer. I should have planned it out differently. It’s my fault I failed. I failed. I failed.

I must figure out what I did wrong and adjust accordingly. I must prevent this future failure. I must be a better worker, a better teacher, a better planner. If I could just arrange my tasks in the perfect order, follow a sequence of success, this wouldn’t happen again. Surely the answer, the formula, the fix, is just around the corner.

Then I think of Aidan and his EX-speary-mints. His nonchalance at insignificant results, his joy in the process of discovery. His love of the game.  What if there is no perfect equation for my work day, what if I tried something to see what happened, what if I PLAY?

When my kids’ breath lengthens and limbs go limp, I sneak out to my office. I chop up my to-do list, cutting each item written to ensure maximum efficiency into rectangular strips that I place in a basket. Tomorrow I will not plan, strategize, overanalyze. I will pluck a strip from the basket and do it. Then the next and the next. A Task-list Lottery, a Wheel of Workflow.

I will see how it feels.

In the morning, my anxiety has transfigured into excitement. I have forgotten the failure of the day before.

My mind is quiet.

I reach into the basket, wondering what I will discover.

//

“Ninety-seven, 98, 99, 100!” Aidan counts from the backseat of the minivan as Bruno-no-no-no blares.

“Whatcha countin’, bub?” I ask as I signal to turn into the parking lot.

“I was testing if I would make it to a hundred before we got to Target.”

“Ah,” I reply, “And was your hypothesis right or wro…”

I stop myself before I finish the word. I am learning there is no right or wrong; not in science and maybe not in most areas of life. Each experiment can yield a useful result, a learning opportunity, a catalyst for growth.

Instead, I ask him–and remind myself:

 “Okay, what did you learn?”

***

With the hopes of stretching my researcher muscles and learning together, I am a starting a new (well, more like first ever) series on Instagram: These are the days of experiments. Every Monday I am going to share a new experiment I am testing out and every Thursday I will share my results and reflections.

An experiment with experiments (oh, how I love to be meta).

I would love to have you join in and share your own experiments and discovery process.

Together, let us be objective observers, open to wonder, and as curious as my sweet boy swirling soap in a medicine cup.