what's a motto with you

I am almost cringing as I write this post.  I know that within the next twenty four hours my mom will read this and think to herself, "I told her so."  Which, I guess is better than, "I told you so."  Although she might even save that for when she sees me next.

I guess I should explain first.

All outlets of social media have been flooded today with pictures and comments and accounts of kids going back to school.  I actually love the back to school season and am feeling kind of bummed that I'm not part of the fun this year.  I have been living vicariously through Facebook's back to school adventures.

One of the things I have noticed from a majority of the Mormon mommy blogs is a family theme or motto for the school year.  Parents choose a phrase or quote or concept to focus on throughout the school year.  It is a recurring lesson for Family Home Evening as the family focuses on improving whatever aspect or trait is the goal.  Mothers host elaborate "Back to School Feasts" complete with handcrafted glittery crowns personalized for each child and a gourmet dinner served on fine china.

I've always been attracted to this idea.  First of all, I love a good craft and I'm always looking for a reason to bust out the glitter.  Also, I love a good party and my mom always treated my brother and sister and I to a special meal on the last day of summer vacation.  I also like the idea of choosing a theme for the family to focus on throughout the year.

"I will do this when Katelyn starts school," I thought to myself and that was that.

I'll admit, I felt envious when I saw pictures from other "Back to School Feasts" and I kind of wished Kate was old enough to understand the concept.  But really Dave and I are much too old for that kind of thing.

Or so I thought.

Then the sun dawned on this morning, the first day of school.  We were out of milk which, as anyone with a toddler knows, is akin to running out of clean drinking water or toilet paper.  We were also out of toilet paper... and napkins... and paper towels.  I told Dave that we had no choice but to stop at the gas station on the way to the bus stop for such essential items.

Dave was nowhere near being ready.  He takes more time than an average female to get ready.  I have teased him about this many times but he never speeds up the process.  Dave has the speed of a snail trudging along a trail of corn syrup in the morning.  He had not ironed his shirt and I had not packed his lunch and we had to take a moment to search for the keys.

We frantically drove away and I watched from the car as Dave paced around the back of a long line at the gas station.  He looked like a caged lion.  It was tense.  I think babies have some sort of meter to detect the amount of tension in the air.  It's like once it reaches a few levels past discomfort for their parents, they activate the "crying for no good reason" sequence.

We pulled up to the bus stop only to watch the bus drive off.  Those drivers are ruthless, by the way.  They will see you running across the parking lot like it was the hundred meter dash at the Olympics and stare you in the eye as they pull the lever to close the doors of your finish line.

So Dave had to drive to work this morning.  Which isn't really that big of a deal unless you have anxiety and the thought of your husband driving to the Med Center in a rain storm gives you IBS.  Also, I don't know if you have noticed lately, but gas is getting pretty expensive and the cost of parking at the hospital for the day is twelve dollars.  Twelve!  That is like twelve Diet Cokes.  Also, now I am without a car and I'm stranded in this apartment and I just burned the life out of an empanada in the microwave and the whole place is filled with smoke and I would really love to just get out of here and walk around the dollar store.

I guess I should get back to my point.

Anyway, Dave helped me up the stairs with Kate and the gallon of precious, precious milk and the toilet paper that cost a dollar a square because it was from the gas station.  We collapsed on the couch because Dave had about half an hour before he needed to leave.  Out of breath and stressed out, we were both mentally reviewing the events of this morning.

"You should have ironed your shirt last night," I spat out like an angry old witch.

Dave apologized and I felt bad.

"I should have packed your lunch," I sighed, wishing I hadn't just sounded so nasty.  "And we really need to check the status of milk and toilet paper on Saturday.  This has just happened too many times."

Dave apologized again and I felt even worse.  That last one wasn't even directed towards him at all.

Then I came to the conclusion that perhaps we did need a family theme for the school year.

The Robertson Family Theme for the 2013/2014 School Year is...

"Be Prepared."

Unfortunately, I'm certainly not prepared to throw some sort of "Back to School Feast" or anything.  In fact, I was planning on serving leftover spaghetti for dinner tonight.  Perhaps I will strap Kate into the stroller and walk on over to Aldi's for a frozen pizza or something.  We're fancy like that.

Anyway, the point is, there have been too many instances where we are simply not prepared.  Not prepared for work, not prepared for church, not prepared for dinner, whatever.  It makes life feel crazy when we really don't have that much going on.  I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be enjoying these carefree days of only one child and a small apartment that's easy to keep clean.  Why do I always feel so out of control?

Here's the part where my mom breaks in and says to me, "I have been saying this all along.  I told you that you just need to get more organized.  I have some helpful hints and ideas to help you stay on top of things."  Insert eye roll.  She'll notice the eye roll and ask if I'm looking for my brain.

It is true, I guess.  I've been hearing the whole "you should be more organized" speech since middle school.  I am notoriously disorganized.  It does make me feel stressed out.  I probably should be more organized.

So here's to you, Mom.  I'm sending you an eye roll and a thank you for the many times you bailed me out.

Actually, just kidding about that frozen pizza.  We ate the leftover spaghetti.  I just wasn't prepared for a walk to Aldi's in the rain.