Was I doomed to repeat my mistakes forever?

How long does it take you to figure out you’re in for a bad day?

Me, I know within 30 seconds of waking up this morning. That’s how long it takes me to pick up my phone, process the time and day — 8:30 a.m., Tuesday — and realize that a) I’ve overslept by a good hour, b) my son is yelling goodbye as he heads out to his camp bus, and c) that same son has a dentist appointment in 15 minutes.

All of which makes me want to go back to sleep and wake up tomorrow.

“No, Shmuli!” I call out, but I know it’s futile even before I hear the door slam. It’s going to be that kind of day.

I groan as I climb out of bed, wondering if it’s possible to head the camp bus off somewhere along its route and extract my son, and how long it would take Shmuli to ever talk to me again if I do.

I root under my bed for my slipper. Shmuli doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed like that. Shmuli’s my good, responsible kid. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten about the dentist appointment — I grit my teeth — had his mother actually told him about it.

I dial the dentist’s office to reschedule as I make the rounds of the bedrooms. The girls are not very happy to hear that they’ve missed their bus, and will be coming late to camp. “But, Ma! I have my trip today!” Tzippy wails. “And they said they’re not waiting for anyone who comes late!”

Next phone call after the dentist is to Tzippy’s counselor. She can’t be older than 17, but she manages to make me squirm as she says, “Gosh, Mrs. Levine, I don’t know how long we can hold the buses, but if you really hurry, I’ll try to make them wait.”

Me, I’m just thrilled to be making the camp drop-off rounds today. Especially with Neiman’s vort tonight.

You can take a customer’s emotional pulse by the number of times they call you to change an order. I’ve done other simchahs for Shira Neiman, and she’s not such a stickler for detail, so I’m guessing it’s the chassan’s mother who is. Shira’s clearly anxious about impressing someone, and that’s why her order form has a million strike-throughs and asterisks and double-underlines with exclamation marks. Like, Food MUST be at hall by 5 p.m.!!

One very long car ride with five grumpy girls later, I’ve succeeded in getting everyone out of the house and where they’re supposed to be, from my toddler who very nearly had a tantrum when I couldn’t find her pink bottle, to my 12-year-old who did have a tantrum when she discovered her blue T-shirt was still in the laundry.

I return to my blessedly quiet house, and head straight for the kitchen. I must start working on the vort cake. It takes at least three hours to bake and decorate.

I pause by the fridge. There’s still one more slice left from the caramel cheesecake for Layla Stern’s bas mitzvah that had come out slightly overdone. The perk of being a caterer: eating the reject pile. After a morning like this one, that cheesecake is calling my name. With an iced coffee. And maybe a magazine. I can spare 15 minutes, I decide.

An hour later, I look at the clock and jump. How did it get so late? Now I’m cutting it close, and I dive into my work. I prepare the cake batter first. Once all three layers are in the oven, I start to carefully mix the food coloring. I’ll be using these colors for the icing and also for the cookies, and I have to get the shades perfect. Rose and gold. I match it to the napkin swatches Shira gave me.

Three hours later the cookies are done, the cake is frosted, and now I’m playing with the fondant. I saw the most gorgeous fondant flower arrangement online, and I want to try to recreate it. Where’s my phone?

I think for a second. I went out this morning, it’s in my pocketbook. But it’s not. Hmm, in the car? After a 20-minute search around the house, I finally locate it in Tzippy and Rivky’s bedroom. Right, I’d just gotten off with the counselor, and had put it down on their dresser. I turn it on — and gulp.

There’s a text from Shira Neiman.