WTH?

What, in the holy hell is wrong with me? Wait...don’t answer that.

Monday mornings are usually quite lazy for us. Not that we are overly-active and productive the rest of the week. However, on Mondays, no one goes to school and we typically don’t have anywhere special to be until L’s ballet class at 4:30 in afternoon. So, this morning, I lounged around upstairs (okay, fine, I was still in the bed) until about 10:30. Yes, my life is hard. Don’t be a hater. JAO was making some important, financial-business phone calls and Z and L were fiddling around in the playroom. All was right with the world.

From my bed, I took a couple of phone calls then wandered downstairs to pour my first cup of coffee. I decided to check L’s ballet schedule to see if there was anything I needed to know about her class today. Sure enough, April 26 is listed as Fun Dancewear Day, which means the students can abandon their required light blue leotard and skirt in favor of something more, um, fun. Usually, it just means the class is full of Disney princess wannabes.

Because I am so thorough, or maybe because there is some part of my brain that fell out during pregnancy, I double-checked my own calendar to make sure that today was, indeed, the 26th of April. In case you were wondering, it is.

Also, in case you were wondering today is Ella’s Princess birthday party.

What??! Quickly, I grabbed the party invitation and, in a panic, scanned the details. My heart sank as I read the arrival time: 11:00 a.m. People, I looked at the clock and it said 10:58. Yes, I had this party written on my calendar, but I wrote that it was at 1:00! Every time I have glanced up at the calendar that hangs just above my computer -- the computer I am constantly on and, therefore, am constantly looking at said calendar -- I have read that the party was at 1:00.

Regardless, I knew that if I allowed L to miss this party, she would be crushed. It would be just another sad tale to add to her growing list of maternal failures to be discussed with her future therapist. I was not going to let that happen. Operation Get L to the Princess Party was a go!

Trying to keep the panic out of my voice, I yelled for L that we needed to get ready for Ella's party now! Why don’t you step inside my head and I’ll take you on the ride that followed...

Blue princess dress! Go get it! Wait, it’s not upstairs. Where is it? Where is it? Oh, yeah! She’d spilled a bit of fingernail polish on it last week and I was supposed to be trying to get it out. It’s in the laundry room! Uh oh, it’s underneath a pile of sheets and towels. Is it too wrinkled? No. It’s good. How does it smell? Fine. Wait? How about the polish? Nope, barely visible. Thank the Lord.

Quick! Put it on! Where are your fancy, silver sparkle shoes? Crap! We left them at Gran’s house last week! Don’t panic, don’t panic...here, wear the old ones from Target. They still have some sparkle in them. No, they look fine! Hurry!

Okay, princess hair...pile it all up on top of your head and spray it. Perfect! Jewelry, jewelry...here! Put on this necklace. Quick, run to your room and get a bracelet! I don’t care which one, just run!

Thank you, Jesus, it is a drop-off party so I don’t have to look too cute. I should probably put on a bra, though. Where’s the sundress I had on yesterday? Here it is. Yes, L, I am going to wear underwear. Geez! Okay, now I’m at least presentable.

A crown, a crown...where’s a freakin’ crown? For the love of all that is royal, any other morning, I would have stepped on about four tiaras just getting from my bed to the bathroom. Now there isn’t one to be found. Throw everything out of the dress-up basket -- of course it’s at the very bottom -- got it! The princess transformation is now complete!

Where’s the gift? On the kitchen counter. Thank heavens I thought to buy it last week instead of my usual just pick something up on the way to the party MO. Crap, I don’t have a bag -- good here’s one that isn’t too beat-up. Throw the gift in there along with some tissue paper. Card, card, we didn’t get a card! Oh, good, there’s a tag on the bag that hasn’t been written on. Quick, write "Love, L" on it! Done! To the van!!

Okay, you can get out of my head, now.

Faithful readers, I want you to know I got L to that party at 11:10. Touch that! That must be some kind of record! Fortunately, the party was only 1.2 miles away from the house and JAO was still home so I didn’t have to worry about getting Z dressed to go with us. Another potential childhood trauma avoided. Phew.

Now here’s the last laugh of this pathetic story: When I got back home, I took a closer look at my calendar and discovered that I had, indeed, listed the correct time for the party. But the two ones in my number 11 were written too close together.

Seriously. WTH?