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It’s amazing how quickly things can go to hell in a hand basket.

Today was actually going fairly smoothly (for this family, anyway).

Toward the end of nap time, I gathered the things we’d need for swimming lessons.  I woke the boys, grabbed some snacks and we left to pick up Jack from school.  Jack gets out around 2:45 and swim lessons (which are less than a mile from school) begin at 3:15.  I had plenty of time to meet another mother in the parking lot and then run to the bank to deposit some checks.

We arrived at the Y with 15 minutes to spare.  I unloaded all the kids, all their stuff and all my stuff and we headed in.  As soon as we arrived in the locker room, I realized I had forgotten to pack Jack’s swim suit.  I looked at him and told him.  He freaked.  I freaked.  What was I going to do?

Make him sit out?  No.

Have him wear his underwear?  No way.

Cancel the lesson?  No way again.

“Let’s go home and get it,” Jack said.

Sh*t.  It was our only option.

I grabbed the kids, grabbed our stuff and herded everyone and everything back out.  As we zip passed the front desk, I yelled out that we had a 3:15 lesson with Liz and to please tell her we’d be 10 minutes late (if I was lucky, the stars were aligned, there was no traffic and my kids all cooperated perfectly.)

Well, we made it.  Pretty much.  Then Jack announced that he needed to poop before his lesson began.  Of course he did!

With Sam on my hip, I stripped Luke and Maria down to their suits poolside and pushed them toward Liz.  I grabbed Jack and we headed to the locker room.  While I was stowing our stuff and trying to keep Sam’s shoes on his feet, Jack did his thing.  In walks Luke.  “I need go pee!” He says yells.  SHEESH.

Finally, I get the boys back to the pool and take Sam to the nursery.

After the lesson, I get everyone changed, we break Sam out of jail an get into the car.  I made a quick phone call to a customer (as I stood outside the van) to see if she was available for me to drop off an order.

When I got back in the van and announced to the kids that we had an errand to run, they vehemently protested with rounds of, “but I’m staaaarrrrving!”

“Too bad, so sad,” I thought.

(They got me back when a different customer called, by screaming at me to turn the radio back up after I had turned it down to take the call. That was embarrassing.)

We ran the errand and arrived home.  As soon as everyone got out of the car they all went BEZERK.

I stood in the kitchen, trying to start dinner, with chaos reigning and Caroline called.  How she could possibly hear a word I said (or I, her) I’ll never know.  As we were hanging up, she brilliantly suggested I indulge in some Mommy Juice.  “I think I will!” I responded.  I hung up the phone, walked to the cabinet and pulled out a wine glass.

Before I could fill my glass, however, Sam reached into the refrigerator (which Luke had opened) and pulled over an entire cup of milk that Maria had set in there after lunch.  He was covered in milk.  The fridge was covered in milk.  The floor was covered in milk.  Sam was howling.  Luke was finger pointing.  I was staring, mouth agape.  Dan walked in.  The phone rang.

I stepped over the mess, brushed pass everyone and headed to the outside fridge to fill my glass.

First things, first, after all.