(I’m writing this post with curlers in my hair. Just so you know. It’s going to be one of those posts.)

Every June, I feel like the world slips just a little bit beyond my grasp. I’m not sure what it is—the wrapping up of the end of the school year, my daughter’s birthday, the crashing of school schedules with summer schedules, swim team (which, really, could be a post by itself. Swim team is so imminently bloggable, I’m surprised I haven’t blogged about it before. Oh wait, I know why. Because I can’t be bothered to blog when I’m fixing snacks for the meet, getting cash for the concession stand because swimming turns my children into hangry bottomless pit monsters from hell who can only be mollified by sticky, overpriced candy and overcooked hotdogs, and trying to figure out what to wear while I sit in the sun for 3 hours to cheer my kids on for a grand total of 2 minutes and 30 seconds of swimming. Go team?).

So I definitely feel a little gimpy around this time of year. Behold examples of my gimpiness:

I ran out bread for a sandwich for my daughter’s lunch. That’s not that big of a deal, because hey, she can just buy, right? Except she can’t, because it was, like, I dunno, super awesome game day in the classroom and they weren’t going to the cafeteria to eat, so she had to pack a lunch. We weren’t only out of bread, we were out of pretty much everything. Except Nutella. Because we are never out of Nutella. So I opened up a tortilla, slapped some Nutella on it, wrapped it up, and told her she got to have a chocolate tortilla for lunch.

Because a chocolate tortilla is pretty much all I can manage right now, people.

Gimpy example #2:

On Saturday, we had a party for my daughter, because it was her birthday. I asked my son to get the pad of paper for the craft table out of the car.

He leaves and comes back empty-handed.

“It’s not there, mom.”

“Yes, it is. I know it is. Go look again.”

“No, really, it’s not there.”

I sigh and ask my husband to get it. He leaves, comes back, although he is not empty-handed. Well, not exactly. He’s holding some mangy pad of paper he has dug out of his car. I swear, there are smears on that thing that are quite possibly a combination of spilled juice, dog hair, and toe jam.

“We can NOT use that for the party! Where is the pad of paper in my car?”

“It’s not there, babe. This is all I’ve got.”

So, I go out to the car, find the pad of paper that I put there, and spend a moment outside by myself where I may or may not have stomped my feet and clenched my teeth and growled to the heavens, “I HATE MY FAMILY!” And there may or may not have been a bad word in there.

I’m expecting a book deal on my excellent parenting skills any day now.

Gimpy example #3:

For some reason only known to the Gods of Bad Decisions, I am on my way to New York to see a friend in a play (because you know, friends in Broadway shows, that’s pretty much how I roll). I got my kids off to school, then ran around carefully preparing everything for my husband. I wrapped the teacher gift, I set out ballet clothes, I set out snacks for swim team (YAY SWIM TEAM), I make four billion phone calls and sent my husband about 5 texts just so he would have every detail of every moment of every day of this mother’s life so there would be no interruption in the streamline efficiency of our family (’cause when a mom tosses chocolate tortillas up for lunch, you know she’s kind of a Martha, right?).

I was feeling pretty good about everything, feeling TOTALLY Martha, strong, empowered, you know, good Mommy stuff, and then this morning, my first day on this trip, I hop out of the shower and open my suitcase to pull out clothes for the adventure.

I haven’t packed any underwear.

So then the serious question arises–Do I wash the underwear I wore yesterday? Do I just pretend it’s really not that dirty and wear it two days in a row? Or do I just go commando for the rest of the week?

TMI?

Sorry. It’s June. This is all I’ve got.

Is your crap together? If so, where do you keep it, and can I come borrow some?