Hot mess mom

Confession: I’ve never had it all together. 

Y’all knew that already. But seriously, it’s getting worse with age. And, guys, I have an age spot on my cheek. I just found it a few months ago…or a year ago. I can’t remember. Time ceases to have any meaning these days. 

This week has been the culmination of many weeks of chaos around here. Our older guy turned four last week. Ryan’s birthday follows five days later- on Labor Day this year. 

Those three day weekends kill me. 

Weeks ago, I got a phone call from our preschool to schedule an individual orientation time for our boy with his teacher. I chose an evening time slot so Ryan could attend also, and because I thought he might keep me on track.  We scheduled for Tuesday evening but my brain convinced me we were actually going Wednesday. So, Monday being a holiday and Hubby’s birthday, Tuesday actually felt more like Monday. So we went about Monday-ing. Translation: we played. My aunt and I took the kids to the beach, attempting to squeeze the last bits out of summer while we could. While there, we saw another student from preschool with his mom and little brother. His mom and I chatted, as moms of preschoolers do, in broken bits of sentences, peppered with exclamations of, “please don’t eat the sand!” and, “watch where you’re flinging the water!”  In the midst of the conversation, the first day of school came up, along with mention of orientation meetings. I heard without actually registering dates. I vaguely remember making a mental note to double-check dates when I got home. 

Obviously, I forgot. 

Tuesday night as I was getting the boys ready for bed, I received a text from his teacher letting me know that I had, in fact, missed the meeting and oh, by the way, school starts tomorrow! 

It was a major face palm moment. 

With that in mind, I managed to deliver him to school yesterday morning- on time!- and bid my baby a wonderful first day. He went to the play doh table with barely a backward glance.  It was equal parts beautiful and gut-wrenchingly painful. 

Day 2: the twins and I dropped him off for his second day, with first-day papers signed, a bottle of soap for the class to use, and a photo of our boy, plus his show-and-tell item. I was pretty proud of myself for about 3.2 seconds when his teacher  complimented my organizational skills at pickup. 

Then I remembered what a hot mess I am, and that I nearly left the house to meet a Grammy-winning, platinum-selling artist in my scrubby mom clothes and sans makeup. 

My plan was to them return home and get some housework done till pickup time, prepare lunch for the boys, then take a short break to attend a wine tasting/signing with the lead singer from one of my all-time favorite bands in the afternoon. Apparently, outside of Mom-land, “afternoon” happens before naptime. 

Fair enough. So my plans moved from beginning at four pm to beginning at one. Clearly, since my biological clock is no longer ticking, it’s now completely AWOL  (I did feel a bit better to learn, however, from talking to the lady behind me at the signing, that I was not the only person who was under the impression that the event started at 4 rather than 1.)

Regardless, all’s well that ends well; despite my hot messiness, I managed to avoid looking like a total disaster and get everything to fall into place the way it needed to. It took some behind the scenes coordinating, but I have a pretty awesome support system. 

Oh, and babe?

Thank you for insisting that I go. The memory of this day will last forever. I love you.




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