I'm sitting here trying to think what could possibly be my good excuse for embodying the very definition of a harried mom this week. Perhaps the fact that I ended up with a pediatrician appointment, a pediatric speech evaluation appointment (fine! her speech is fine! I wish I could go back in time and cancel those two appointments because I surely could have used those extra hours!), a dentist appointment, and a haircut appointment all in one week? Perhaps my attempts to juggle preschool, playdates, daily playground visits, nightly home-cooked dinners, and every household chore imaginable, all at the same time?
Perhaps the fact that Christopher worked late last night. Or that due to all the potty accidents around this place lately, I feel like I live in the laundry room these days. Or maybe it's the fact that I had three kid-birthdays to shop for this week. Or the birthday parties, pumpkin patch visits, and apple-picking plans beginning to fill my October wall calendar. Or, I know--it's all the preschool fundraiser deadlines and pancake breakfast sign-ups and t-shirt ordering and Board meeting agendas cluttering up my brain. Or wait! Julia's yearly preschool "All About Me" page is due in a week; and isn't that, in the end, something that's more on MY to-do list than her own?
Maybe it's the fact that in two weeks I was supposed to fly to San Antonio to visit my dearest far-away friend for a girls' weekend (imagined for 4+ years!), and yet daily fare-checks reveal plane tickets so expensive there is NO WAY I can afford them? And yet, I'm sort of supposed to be flying to TX in two weeks? Yeah, that's a little frazzling.
All I know is, this morning after preschool drop-off, I drove to CostCutters to get Genevieve's hair cut, and when I pulled up to the strip mall, I ended up straddling the white parking-space line, smack in front of the shop's front window. (No, I did not realize it until I was out of the car and in the shop.) Then when I got inside and was checking in with the nice, no doubt childless and unharried twenty-something hairdresser, I spilled the contents of my (very large) handbag all over the salon floor. When I gathered my things, the nice hairdresser girl at the desk had to point out that my phone was still under a chair. (Thanks, nice childless hairdresser girl! I'm not always this harried!) When I went to pay, I accidentally wrote the amount of the check in the space for the name of the salon, and had to start over.
I'm sure this 22-year-old hairstylist was convinced I had started drinking at 8 a.m. today.
I did make it home without further incident, and that's including stopping at two other places to run further errands. Although I did accidentally make Genevieve cry by taking her down the Halloween-candy aisle at Walgreen's, where, unbeknownst to me, on the opposite side of the aisle from where we were standing, stood two or three big old scary Halloween monster mannequins, right there, right where she was facing from her helpless little strapped-into-the-cart vantage point. I was so busy picking out treats for my big plan to make, frost, and decorate Halloween sugar-cookie cut-outs with the girls later this month that it took me awhile to register that Genevieve was feebly whimpering my name and weakly gesturing toward the ghouls, paralyzed with fear.
Ah, yes. Best. Mom. Ever. (Sigh.)