Somehow we have set a standard of three cake events for birthdays. One at school (usually cupcakes), one at home that night (decorated by siblings) and one at the party (requiring licensed characters and/or creatures). I don't know how this standard came to be, I only know that it is now sacred and deviating would be like the changes of Vatican II, only more contentious.

Once I get TS out the door, I'm planning on piling PG and Turbo (my little guy) into the car, stopping by the store (I'm buying instead of baking this time. Sue me.) for cupcakes, dropping them off, then zipping over to TS's school where I'm scheduled to serve pizza for lunch. Good thing I've gotten all my movie reviews done early.

Full morning. But I'm supermom. I can do it.

Of course, it's never that easy. Disaster strikes. TS can't find his tie. Anywhere. Together we tear the house upside down. No luck. I am looking in the most unlikely of places. Under my bed. Kitchen cabinets. Even the drawer where it should be put away but of which it has never, ever seen the inside. Nothing.

At T-minus three minutes till school starts, I tell TS to go without and take the fates the gods send him (or his teachers).

He rides off and I rush the other kids to the car. But not before noticing that TS HAS LEFT HIS BOOKS AND HOMEWORK ON THE TABLE!!

I pick up his stack of books and work and shove them into his backpack. I have to get a forklift to do this. They weigh a lot.

I drive the younger two to school. Turbo mentions something about his backpack. I don't have time to check it. I shoo them out and off to a day full of wonder, exploration, and learning.

I drive to TS's school, where I jump out. But the backpack with his heavy books isn't in the car. Nowhere. I swore I put it in. Two other moms watch me as I circle the car repeatedly, peering in windows. I'm new here. My reputation can't afford unexplained car peering. I give a jaunty wave. A little laugh like I know what I'm doing.

I'll just swing back by the house after dropping off cupcakes and circle back to the school. Again.

I rush to the store. TS calls me. "My teacher is MAKING me call even though I TOLD her MOM KNOWS that I'm not wearing a TIE." I tell him see if he can borrow one and I'm bring his books just as soon as I zip back home and get them. "What books?" he says, "I have my books."

I'm so confused.

I drop off cupcakes, kiss my girl, serve pizza, banter with TS's class while trying not to embarrass him (a nearly impossible task, but I pull it off. I think.) and return home to crash.

After school, TS tells me the books he'd left on the table weren't needed at school that day. That's why he left them. Duh. So much for mom to the rescue.

But it's not until Turbo gets in the car that all is revealed. I had shoved TS's books into Turbo's backpack and sent him to school with 35 pounds of Jr. High work. He found this quite amusing.

Mystery solved. The kids were all fine. It was mom who was creating problems.

Again.

Epilogue: We found TS's tie in a pocket in his backpack. He'd had it with him at school the whole time. Isn't irony delightful?

I am wanted by the library.

I have three kids. And I want to do right by them, you know? Which, apparently, according to all the "experts" like "teachers" and "social services" means schlepping them to the library regularly.

Let's call my oldest The Solicitor because he can talk the hind legs off a mule. Not that we have a mule. I guess he'll have to talk the hind legs off his brother. TS is in Jr High. He loves his cell phone, My Life is Average, and his mom. In that order. Actually, he'd probably put a lot of things between MLIA and his mom. He also loves to read, always has, which has led to the trouble.

My middle tweenie, my only girl, is also a reader. We call her the Pink Goth because when she was little, she'd dress head to toe in fluffy pink. Then she'd give every stranger on the street the nastiest, drop-dead looks if they so much as smiled at her. We're talking looks that could incinerate, with her head down, glaring up at them through her eyebrows. We later figured out PG was shy and walking around looking like she wanted to skin your cat was her way of protecting herself. At least that's what we tell ourselves. Ask us in 7 years when the neighborhood cats start disappearing.

And the little guy? He is a boundless stream of energy. He climbs on things he really shouldn't. Like lamps. Or the vacuum cleaner. As a second grader, he's all boy. Let's call him Turbo. He's too busy breaking things to do anything so quiet as reading. But there is an exception. He'll read anything about dinosaurs. He loves dinosaurs. He knows their Latin names, their habits, favorite TV shows, and Match.com profiles. He will read, no, he NEEDS to read each and every book on the face of the earth about dinosaurs. Especially the ones with pictures of bloody teeth chomping through shredded flesh.

Seriously. I have nightmares.

So being the diligent and responsible mom I am, I pack them up and take them to the library. TS gets his Percy Jackson. PG gets her book about flying cats. And Turbo picks up 17 books about dinosaurs. And there, at the checkout, is where the National Guard moves in to arrest me.

You see, I'm really good at getting books from the library. Not so good at returning them.

It all started when we moved. I don't know about you, but no matter how organized I am at the gate, my final days of moving consist of grabbing big piles of stuff and shoving them in boxes. I have never moved without moving a few bags of trash that I just shoved into a box.

We moved. I shoved a stack of library paraphernalia in a box. That box is probably still packed in the basement, three moves later. In the box, apparently, were books, but also DVDs.

DVDs in the District of Columbia have a late fee of $1 day.

When I went back to make peace with the library, I had a small matter of a bill.

500 dollars. Yep. You read that right. I had a FIVE. HUNDRED. DOLLAR. library fine.

Go me.

I know that there are moms out there who have never had an overdue book, much less spectacularly overdue. Their kids eat vegetables joyfully. They vacuum behind the refrigerator and bake carob cupcakes for class snacks.

This blog is not for you. Go away and dust or something.

I can't be the only library fugitive out there. This blog is for the rest of us. The ones who try and fail and find joy in our kids nonetheless. The less-than-perfects, the ones that make the other moms look good. We can pull this off. We can do it. Si, se puede.