Amanda Lamb: Inching my way

"Mommy, the store is about to close," my oldest daughter squealed into her cell phone.

"What time?" I barked back into my phone.

"7," she said as I looked at the clock on my dash board.

"Tell them I have my credit card in my hand," I said as I deftly maneuvered a turn with one hand on the steering wheel and dug in my purse for my wallet with the other hand.

My husband was in the restaurant next door to the dance store ordering dinner. My oldest was helping my little one get new ballet and tap shoes. I was, as usual, late. I ran into the store at 7:03 p.m. full of apologies as the cashier reached for my credit card that I was waving in my hand. The girls sat on a bench in the shoe area with arms crossed eyeing me with a palpable look of disappointment.

"I made it, right?" I said as I rushed passed them to the register to pay.

"Barely," my older one muttered under her breath.

After a quick dinner of Mexican food next door, I gave my husband his assignment.

"She needs her bangs cut, just a half inch, get them out of her eyes. And she needs a one-inch binder," I said as he nodded solemnly. I was taking my other child to buy school clothes as she had appeared to have grown six inches overnight.

As my husband and youngest pulled out of the parking lot, I took a deep breath. Sure, my life is crazy, but somehow it all works out with the help of my husband and daughters, who are becoming increasingly more independent, helpful and responsible.

"Don't worry, Mommy," my youngest yelled out the window from the backseat of her father's car. "I got it covered. One inch off my bangs!"

OK, so maybe it doesn't always work out.