I Have Everything Under Control

I am standing by my bed, folding the third load of laundry for the day. I look at the clock. It's 3:10pm.

20 minutes 'til we leave for dance. Big is already dressed for her class. Little is already up from her nap. They are both playing nicely with the Princess Castle in Big's room.

I allow myself to think, "Good. We are in good shape. We've got 20 minutes until we leave. No problem."

I continue to fold my laundry. I finish and glance at the clock. 3:17pm. 13 minutes until we leave for dance.

I decide I have enough time to put away the girls laundry -- which requires me to make a few trips from my bedroom full of nicely folded laundry to their rooms down and across the hall. I put away all of their laundry -- hanging items, too -- because, heck, I have things under control. PLENTY of time.

All done. 3:25 pm. We need to leave for dance in 5 minutes -- but everyone is ready. I have everything under control.

I start to round up the girls to make our way downstairs. But, before we go down, Big declares that she has to go to the bathroom. Even though she just went -- and she's fully dressed in tutu, leotard, and tights.

We get her stripped down, she goes potty (she did have to go, really), and we redress her. I glance at the clock in her room: 3:28 pm. 2 minutes. We will be fine. All we have to do is load up and go.

Again I rally the troops, and this time we go downstairs. I decide to carry Little in an effort to save time -- and I realize she has a poopy pull up. Even though SHE just went potty and was changed just before the laundry was folded. I strip her down, change her (nasty) pull up, redress her.

It's now 3:30. OK, now we have GOT to go.

And nobody has on shoes. And now Big starts asking for a snack to eat on the way to dance -- which means that Little must pipe in with a 'Me Too!', naturally.

Big is asked to get the shoes out of the closet as I frantically grab some Ritz crackers and two cheese sticks from our kitchen. I throw them in little plastic bowls to be eaten in the car. Little is supposed to be on 'snack restriction' in the car because she is beyond messy most of the time -- but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Big has held up her end of our deal -- shoes are out of the closet and on her feet as I return to the hallway. I throw Little's crocs on her, stash the snacks in my purse, and get the kids into the car. It's past 3:30 now.

There are 3 stop lights between our house and the dance studio. I get caught by two of them.

And when we arrive at dance, we are 5 minutes late. The studio door is closed. Big does not have her dance shoes on, and the Ritz crackers have spilled all over my purse.

As I fumble over the buckles on Big's patent leather tap shoes, I laugh at myself. Like I said, I have everything under control.