I probably should have known that this morning would be a stinger when my alarm refused to go off on time making my son tardy and me behind the eight ball for the rest of the morning. I remained optimistic however rushing my child out of the shower and quickly slapped a sandwich, apple and granola bar together for his makeshift lunch. “You can turn this around…” I told myself. Sure that I could change the outcome of the day. Alas, before stepping out the door to rush the school process along, the phone rings. Should I answer or should I not? Caller id quickly tells me it is the school and even though I know I have my one and only (albeit seriously late) child with me, I still have a sense of panic that something is wrong. Upon answering, I find that on the other end of this line is the school PTO President and my friend who appears to be, as I sensed, in a panic. Now, I won’t go into the topic of concern in detail (we’ll just call it code:CALENDAR) because, quite frankly, it is just that: a concern. We’re not curing cancer, trying to resolve the current economic woes or addressing the travesties of other countries. But, to hear the anxiety and stress in her voice said otherwise. I put on my really calm voice while jamming my hands silently through my rumpled hair in frustration at the bits and pieces of the story that were sporadically thrown into the conversation. “Yes, yes…I will address this or that…” I said before hanging up and muttering a few choice words. Since I am the PTO Secretary (did I mention that?) I generally do the leg work and attempt to mop up the spills that fall thereafter. That was in the job description, right? So I make my vows to follow through and rush my child to school, who is sullen at best. Upon returning home, I decide that what I need is a warm cup of Chamomille Tea and some toast with butter and a good dollop of homemade jam that we received as a christmas gift from some local farm-owning friends. Once again, my timely phone jangles and it is another friend and school parent calling to complain about –you guessed it–code:CALENDAR. Am I fit to be plagued? The water has yet to boil for my chamomille. After an hour conversation about code:calendar, parents health and the meaning of life I hang up. It is now lunchtime and I just want my tea and toast. Reboil water. Depress toaster. Check emails, look over code:CALENDAR and address hungry, madly barking dogs in pen. It is cold, sunny and windy today unlike yesterday, hot, humid and overcast. You gotta love the south in January. I’ve addressed late child, mad parents, troubled PTO and frustrated dogs and I’m still alive! However, I now have burnt toast.