I was late to retrieve the boy from school because I Face Sucked like a fiend AND watched the latest episode of “Once” on hulu AND in another open hulu tab caught up on the latest episode of “Revenge” WHILE checking on what Masterpiece Theatre is coughing up now that Downton is hibernating, a tab here, a tab there, battling guilt for watching anything or Face Sucking even the tiniest bit when I should have been researching literary agents as I did yesterday and the day before when that one rejection on my full ms. came in, but I Face Sucked and tab hopped and encouraged a lot of noise to make itself right at home in my bedroom office and when it was almost 1pm I screamed because I’m the mom who is never late, not even by seconds (faithful to a vow made when I was a kid and continually mired outside my school gates waiting, waiting, waiting) and I quickly calculated I was going to be 2 minutes late because I still needed to make the kid’s spinach smoothie disguised as strawberry/blueberry smoothie as he doesn’t eat vegetables that come in green or carrot or even yellow unless he doesn’t know he’s eating them in squash-flaxseed-carrot-puree pancakes or smoothies or spaghetti sauce or homemade bread or homemade chicken nuggets or homemade meatloaf bites or cookies sometimes or pudding or even jam and, just once, a grilled cheese sandwich (seriously, neither of us could stomach that one), and I obsess on his not getting enough iron from vegetables or those ribo, carotin-ish bits he’s supposed to absorb and as I sped the minivan to the school I worried about ribo and carotin-ish bits and literary agents with bad advice and whether or not I am right in diving into part 2 of a novel when part 1 hasn’t even been picked up (yet) and I marveled over how synopsis sounds like snot or something nose-blowing-ish and wondered for maybe the zillionth time if that’s why I have such trouble writing synopses, because I’m thinking about snot instead of—and I remembered I was supposed to bring a CD of jpegs featuring special events in my kid’s class (Chinese New Year parade, St Patrick’s Day green snacks, Easter party, Valentine’s Day, last Halloween, the Christmas concert, the school pancake breakfast, back to school night, Dr. Seuss Day, the making of latkes, Wednesday share days, pajama days, crazy hair days, hat days) and as I’m the Room Mom it was mortifying to realize that not only was I late, but lacking the package I promised and when I reached the school the main gates were shut, so I was forced to zoom around back and use the pedestrian gate, tacking on another few minutes despite sprinting across the parking lot and by the time I burst into the classroom with apologies, the little naptime cots were all set up and giggling kids getting on them, further mortifying me, but the teachers told me to just bring the CD the following morning and one of them squeezed my hand sympathetically and said she was glad I wasn’t perfect and it was then I realized my Old Navy blue and white striped sailor’s type shirt was on inside out.

My son emerged from the play-kitchen area, shouted MAMA! and promptly resumed “cooking” with miniature pots and pans.

WTH, PB, I thought, holding hands with my boy as we skipped back to the minivan in sunshine and cool, breezy air. Take a little break.

So I started horse riding lessons. English. Like when I was 8 years old and waiting for my parents to pick me up from the stables, waiting, waiting, waiting…Only now, I am in control. I have minivan keys. I have a reliable waterproof wristwatch. I have a dollar in my pocket. And a carrot. I. Am. In. Control.

One day, hopefully, the horse will believe this.

Leroy is not letting me off the hook as far as the unicycle’s saddle. In fact, I’m sure he’d rather I ride that than him.

So there.