It's 6:56 am. Things 1-4 are already fed, dressed, on the bus and on their way to school. Already I have run to the grocery store for lunch supplies and still ran everything like clock work. Oh yeah, look at me doing my happy dance. Okay it is more like an old woman , arthritic hobble but it is a joyful arthritic hobble. Four down and only one left to go. Paul comes drearily down the steps at 6:58 and sleepily announces: "Oh yeah Mom, I forgot to tell you yesterday I tore my shoe almost in half playing outside. I'll need new shoes before school." I look at the clock, 7:03. My happy hobble has ceased. I look at the offending sneaker, hoping above all things that Paul (Mr Give Me The Facts and Nothing but the Facts) is somehow exaggerating the extent of damage to his shoe. No such luck; the shoe is gone. No amount of duct tape trauma care is gonna patch it up for even one more day. 7:06 and Paul and I are in the van heading out to buy his fourth pair of new shoes since school started in late August. Here I must pause and remind you we live in small town TX. You cannot just run out and buy shoes. No, the nearest place to buy shoes is 14 miles away.....14 miles not a big deal, unless it is 7:08 and your child has to be at school no later than 8:15. We hightail it to Walmart (14 miles away). It is 7:27 when we pull into the parking lot. We rush through Walmart, pick up the first pair of Men size 8's we can find and run for the register (the ONLY register open at 7:35 am). Obviously,we get the cashier who is in training to retain his Guinness World Record as The World's Slowest Cashier. Five minutes later, five minutes to ring up a pair of shoes.....sigh, and we are break necking it back to the van. We pull up in front of Paul's school at 8:07. I am congratulating myself once more for my complete awesomeness as a mom. Go me, oh yeah!! Then I notice Paul's jeans as he is getting out of the van.....mustard spattered and ripped and dirty at the bottom......probably the same ones he was wearing when he ripped his shoe. 8:09 my son walks into school, on time, with bright new shoes and mustard spattered, dirty, ripped jeans. And that my friends is how we rock wardrobe malfunctions here in Skiffland.