Desperately Seeking a "Chill Pill"

I've mentioned my type A tendencies. And like any person with a serious problem, some days are better than others. Today was not a proud day.

I remember when I signed Drew up for play school I imagined all the leisure time I would have for cleaning and cooking and shopping. Somehow, though, the days he is in school, I'm like the mad hatter. Don't ask me why getting to play school on time is such a huge deal to me. Because, heaven knows what might happen if he were a few minutes late. He might not get to put stickers on his white lunch sack (aka Valentine's treat bag). I always leave the house like we are on a major mission. It's ridiculous, I know, but that gives you a little back story. And we all know you were clamoring for back story. Moving on.

My near nervous breakdown began this morning at the remedial Starbucks near my house. I don't know if they have "starter" Starbucks, where they put all the new people, but if they do, this is one of them. SERIOUSLY. How long does it really take to make a few lattes? Three times in the last month I have bailed out of the infernally slow Starbucks line and gone to McDonald's where my coffee was served in mere seconds for 1/3 the cost. But I love a skinny Vanilla Latte. And sometimes you get trapped in line. Like today. When I finally got to the order box the voice in the box said, "I'll be with you in a minute..." Blowing a gasket seemed very likely at this point. WE HAVE TO GET TO PLAY SCHOOL ON TIME, LADY!! You know those little talky boxes have a camera in them, don't you? They can see you when you roll your eyes at them or flip them off. I did neither today, but I did lay my head down on my steering wheel in despair. "Please suh, just a skinny vanilla latte..." My son says from the backseat, "Mommy, you need to have more patience."

We then proceeded to get stopped by every single red light in my part of town. Which, for being such a small part of town has a ridiculously high number of red lights. We finally made it to school, and whew, Drew did not miss out on making his treat bag. But the clock was still ticking. I HAD to be home by 10 a.m. to give Emily her medicine. HAD TO, you hear me?? Great and colossal bad things might occur if she doesn't get her medicine RIGHT ON TIME.

While the clock ticked, I made my way to the fellowship hall for preschool registration for next fall. Registration opened at "9:00" and somehow I was still 37th in line. THIRTY SEVENTH. I was ready to kill every single parent and child in the room. Especially the little crusty nosed boy who kept trying to touch my baby. I'm not sure what exactly is hard about taking a number and then making your way to the table when they call your number. Apparently, it's a real brain buster for some folks.
"27 preschool...27 preschool...27 preschool...??" No one moves. Ok then. "28 preschool..." "Oh wait! Did you call 27??" I think the preschool director should have been more like the soup nazi. You snooze you lose, 27.

Believe it or not, I had my skinny vanilla latte, Drew made his treat bag, we were not wait listed at school and Emily got her medicine on time.

Good thing, too. I would hate to have to take responsibility for the apocalypse.