I write this post today from the second floor of Whole Foods, my pulse racing, sweat beading on my brow.

Let’s just something straight. I’m into rules. I like them. They give me a structure to work within. Less questions for me to have to ask. I like to know them, and I like to follow them.

So when I got the email last night from the Whole Foods kids’ cooking class that said I needed to have my kid at class BEFORE 10:00 this morning, I thought, “Cake.” I thought wrong.

This particular Whole Foods is about 25 minutes from my house…20 if I sail through green lights. We leave the house at 9:30 and make it to the area the store is in at 9:45. I am golden. My child will be the first to arrive. Star pupil potential.

I sit relaxed at a red light and leisurely glance at my child in the back seat who smiles casually back at me. A sweet moment between us. He loves cooking. I’ve found this cooking class for him. I just can’t wait for him to experience it – he’s been wanting to do this for ages now. And the time is finally here. I hope he likes it because this will determine whether my friend and I attend adult classes, similar to these cooking classes nyc, that she’s found in our area or not. I would love to do it but if my kid doesn’t enjoy it, then I doubt I will too because he loves the activity more than me. I can’t wait for him to try something new. He’s going to make breakfast, and in honor of Mother’s Day, a “surprise guest” *ahem* will join him to eat the breakfast he has made.

My gaze averts to his flip-flopped feet propped up on the seat back, and a flashback from last night’s email from the cooking class folks fills my brain. I gasp. “I think you were supposed to wear closed-toed shoes!”

Now, most of you out there are going, “What’s the big deal? He’ll be fine in the flip flops.” This is where I remind you of “the rules.” I follow rules. I rarely break them. And I have a fear that he will not be permitted to the class without the closed-toed shoes on.

We happen to be right in front of Macy’s. A sign! I’ll run in here and buy him a pair of shoes. I wheel us into the parking lot and find a space right by the door. Another sign! However, it’s 9:45 in the morning, so probably not that karmic.

We do that nerdy looking fast walk (because we’d be breaking a rule if we ran) up to the boys’ department. As we frantically glance around, looking for anything resembling shoes, a sales clerk kindly stops helping the customer she is with and asks if she can help us, clearly sensing our frantic situation. She informs us that Macy’s doesn’t carry boys’ shoes (??) and that the best she could do is a size 7 in men’s. They would be big, but they would work! Luckily, my nine-year-old has huge feet.

We fast walk through the store, down two escalators, a poor guy moving aside so we could rush past him, and arrive at the men’s shoe department. No sales clerk. I finally get the attention of one in another department before I realize she’s helping another customer. What are all these people doing at Macy’s before 10:00 anyway? She proceeds to ditch the other customer and look up on her computer six different shoes, looking for a size seven or anything close. Nothing. The regular shoe department sales clerk shows up about this time and informs us that he has nothing smaller than an 8.5.

I decide we are screwed. I’m pretty sure I say as much to my kid. I ring my husband, thinking he could bring some shoes, knowing this is a Hail Mary, him being a half hour away and class starting in mere seconds. And then I see the women’s shoe department. I can surely find some women’s shoes that will work, can’t I?

We rush through the department, scanning the heels and loafers, and my gaze locks on the most perfect sight I have ever seen. Converse! Those are unisex, right? (Right? Please tell me that’s right.) I snatch up a white one and hold it up just when another precious, busy Macy’s employee says, “Can I get you a size?” Shout out to all the very helpful Macy’s employees who made this day possible!

While he’s in the back, I scan for socks and come up empty, but I do see something that I think may work – those footy things. You know, the little panty hose they keep for women to try on dress shoes? Score!

So I outfit my nine-year-old boy in the panty hose and women’s converse, and for the first time in my life, take a pair of shoes to the register not having a clue what they cost. I scan my card, and we are off.

I could keep going here with more about how the door was locked on cooking class, and we interrupted a very serious “classroom style” situation with way more people than I expected, and how mortified I was by that, being the rule follower I am. But I’m running long, so I’ll just sum up here.

As I realized we were going to be a good ten minutes late (good time considering what all we went through to get there), I thought and said out loud, “It’s not the end of the world if you are a few minutes late to cooking class.” And it wasn’t. He’s in there now, cracking eggs, stirring batter and learning how to cook a full breakfast. (Did I mention candied bacon is involved?) That’s what he’ll remember about today, not my panicked quest for closed-toed shoes.

So all you moms out there, give yourself a break. You have screwed up and you will keep screwing up. And thank God for it, because there is nothing worse in this world than a perfect mother.

Happy Mother’s Day!