So what is this Mother's Little Helper and where can I score some?

Yes, yes, yes, my husband thinks he's pretty cool with his blogjacking episode. We all do, too, honey. We think it's just marvy that you know how to use the internets to hack into my blog. On which I have changed the password, and no, it does not rhyme with a female body part, so next time you're trying to break in to share your vulgar, four-letter-word thoughts, you can leave "Mulva" out of your password guesses.

And now, back to me.

Evidently my calendar "system" (aka, a paper calendar on the fridge) is not working because I finally did it--I missed a parent-helping day at Sassy's preschool. She attends a co-op, so there's a lot of volunteerism and mandatory parent-helping, which is usually fun and involves a lot of paste and life lessons spelled out in macaroni. So this morning, my car-pooling friend picked Sassy up, I went to pour a coffee and go over weekend plans with John. A few minutes later, the phone rings, and it's my car-pooling friend indicating that there were villagers with pitchforks at school wondering where today's parent-helper was, and where was the damn home-made, organic, gourd-flavored snack?

So John dashed out the door to cover me because at 6'5" he really misses sitting in chairs that were designed for 35-pound children, while I ran to the store to pick up the healthy, organic, incorporating-all-food-groups-but-only-if-they're free-range snack of pretzels in those tiny yellow boxes, and juice.

And headed to school with my tail between my legs because you know all those balls supposedly in the air? Yeah, I dropped one of those.

Sassy was thrilled to see me, John got to give me a hard time veiled in preschool politeness ("Oh look, everyone, Mrs. Sassy's Mommy is here! Did you have a nice nap, Mrs. Sassy's Mommy?") and I got to spend the morning exploring symmetry by pasting differently colored shapes on black paper, sitting in the tiny chair, and wondering why I didn't have a coffee before me because APPLE JUICE JUST ISN'T THE FUEL MAMA NEEDS, POPPETS.

Tune in next time for the continuing story of the mama who falls off the Supermom wagon and ends up living in a van down by the river, with only her daughter's imaginary friends for company.