Me and school supplies and finally, the end of summer

Well, I managed to get the kids back to school. Even the Tyrant is enrolled this year, although it’s only three days a week. Still, for 12 hours each week, I am kid-free, at least until I begin to use the extended day program at the pre-school, which could be as early as next week.
The Back-To-School preparations did not go well, probably because I didn’t begin them until two days before school started. I think I totaled five supply trips, and I’m still missing a red folder and a blue folder with pockets AND hole punch thingies, sheet protectors and a container of sanitizing wipes. I could have bought a small used car for what I’ve spent.
Husband worked the day before, naturally, and sauntered into the school on the first day like Mr. Hands-On New Age Father of the Year. I trailed behind him schlepping the backpacks, unable to stop obsessing about whether I had put a juice box in everyone’s lunch box and if I had accidentally included a peanut-product that would send my daughter’s classmate into anaphelactic shock.
Fortunately everyone was happy to be at school, there were no tears, and as we left the final classroom, Husband and I gave each other high fives and issued joint little whoops of joy. A Father of the Year in front of us turned around and gave us a pointed look. “My wife hates this day,” he said. “She loves spending time with our kids.”
Now, I try not to let these sorts of incidents bother me - you know, these brief moments when other people make you feel like your children should be compensated for merely standing next to you. Coincidentally, something similar had happened the day before when I took my kids to Panera for dinner. As I ordered three chicken noodle soups, feeling actually quite proud that my little children adore eating chicken noodle soup, the Tyrant grabbed a bottle of water and threw it on the floor and the Pterodactyl pulled off my loose-waisted gauchos which I had worn because I felt bloated and the Diva was yelling, “I’ll get all the drinks, Mom!” So I was standing like a middle-aged washed-up hip hop artist with my underwear showing, trying to stash my credit card with one hand while using the other to keep the Tyrant from scratching my eyes out and barking at my kids to stay where I could see them, and the cashier gave me a superior saccharine smile and said, “Have a great evening!” She might as well have screamed at the top of her lungs, “I’M SO FUCKING GLAD I’M NOT YOU!” and started tossing muffin crumbs to my kids.
She was younger and shorter than me, so I threw back my shoulders, looked at her in feigned disbelief, and said, “Seriously?” Then I shook my head, laughed and walked away. And didn’t feel the least bit guilty when my three kids had a combined seven potty emergencies during the 35 minutes we were there.
One of the potty emergencies occurred en masse, as my children have developed some kind of weird simultaneous pooping osmosis. It shouldn’t be an issue at home since we have three toilets, but one of the toilets has a disconnected seat which has led to some awkward instability during business meetings. Consequently, some drama has occurred.
Anyway. Of course I love my kids, and I love spending time with them, particularly when they’re not calling each other “poopy pee-pee weiners” in public but, man, it’s nice to catch my breath every once in a while. And when the father at pre-school made that comment about his wife hating to send her kids back to school, the spirit of Miss Manners hovered over my shoulder and told me to smile and ignore him. But I had a lot of hot air that day, so I blew Miss Manners away, and I said to that man, “I guess she’s just a better mom than me.”