The mornings are foggy and there's a little bit of chill in the air as I browbeat children down the walkway and into the minivan. I know that I'm a veteran of Getting Kids Places, but I'm still setting the alarm on my iPhone to remind me where I need to be and when. I decide whether to demand that the kids wear sweaters, do spot checks for lunches and homework, my mind already racing ahead to the first meeting or project of my work day.

Let's just say that it is remarkable that I haven't been called by the school to inform me that my kid is standing forlornly in the office waiting for me to pick them up because I forgot that it was early pickup day.

Speaking of which, tomorrow being back to school night at the elementary school means that it is a minimum day. School starts at 8am and ends at 11:50am.

Are. You. Kidding. Me?

I'm trying to find the rhythm to my new schedule, but at this point, it looks a lot like I did at my first Zumba class - lots of spinning the wrong direction, but with enthusiasm and accidental jazz hands. I can't shimmy without jazz hands, apparently.

All of this boiled over today as I had a minor, potty-mouth-muttering meltdown in the pickup queue for the middle school. I had the misfortune of arriving exactly when the bell rang... and all the new-to-the-school parents were making poor driving decisions. Like, parking in the driveway, for example. Or backing up the parking lot exit by attempting a left turn that took almost 10 minutes to achieve. Or driving the wrong way around the lot, which only has room for a single car, in a single direction.

I've informed my kids that I will arrive to get them approximately 10 minutes after the final bell, and they should be ready for me at the curb, because if I have to deal with another grandma who has parked her beemer in the no-stopping zone 20 minutes before the bell rings and the Super Important Busy Dad who responds to the bottleneck by throwing his car into park right in the middle of the lane and leaping out of the car to go look for his kid (while leaving the driver door open), I'm likely to shank someone.

Once I finally got both kids in the car and managed to navigate past the people to whom parking lot navigation resembles an Escher staircase, I tried to put it in perspective.

I'm still trying. Man, I hate the pickup queue.