I've come to the conclusion there is not enough caffeine in the Greater Phoenix area to keep me going this weekend. I have endured the trifecta of working mom skill set tests: husband out-of-town (for boys trip which does in fact make it exponentially harder to endure than boring business trip), three-day soccer tournament (all games being no less than an hour away in travel time - too close to justify hotel room, to far to drive without putting hole in the ozone layer), topped off by the necessity to plan for book release event on Tuesday (trying to memorize speech while sitting outside the Ikea play area in between soccer matches is going poorly to say the least. Had to shift tactics of trying to memorize speech at soccer tournament as other parents kept giving me the hairy eyeball for not paying attention to my son. He's eight and it's soccer for the love of God.).The best part is that until Saturday morning I suffered under the delusion that I had this weekend under control. Oh the hubris! Believing that I owned this weekend because I had planned out every detail. I hit the road with my two squirrels Saturday morning with an itinerary that would put Martha Stewart to shame: printed directions, departure times, arrival times, game times, nearby restaurants - you name it I had it! Then I noticed the flashing red light on my phone. New message. Bad news. New field - even further away than what my itinerary allowed for. As I am pulled over on the side of the road desperately trying to pull up the new directions, being honked at by some one who I'm sure had no children and a perfect life because I wasn't pulled over far enough to the side of the residential road I was on (seriously, you can't just go around?), my husband calls from Mexico to make sure I got the field change. I just shouldn't have answered. He starts out innocently enough wanting to know if I got the message about the field change. When I respond by asking what evil master-mind changes fields the day of the game my husband actually starts to defend them.. Really? You are defending the mental midget who can't be trusted to organize the soccer schedule for a bunch of seven-year olds while you are in Mexico working through your tequila hangover?A this point all I can think about is a guy in my office who is an amazing cold caller. I mean this guy hits the phones with the single-mindedness of a labrador retriever going after a tennis ball. Anyone who has tried to make a living this way knows the utter and complete misery it can induce. Once evening we were at the office late and he revealed to me that when ever he starts to get down or throw himself a pity party he motivates himself by watching "Hotel Rwanda." During the movie he reminds himself that the worst thing he has to do is call strangers on the phone and these folks had to live through genocide. Makes cold calling look like a pretty good deal.So I'm on the side of the road repeating "Hotel Rwanda, Hotel Rwanda, Hotel Rwanda" to myself in a desperate attempt not to jump through the phone and murder my husband or engage in some serious road rage with this person with the perfect life who is honking at me.It worked.I then spend the rest of the day "winging it" (itinerary has been angrily ripped up at this point). Winging it is my euphemism for getting lost. Repeatedly. With two kids who keep asking me if we're ever going to make it to the next soccer game.By the time we finally make it home I am so bone tired that I agree against my better judgement to have a sleepover with all the dogs and boys in my room. So I wake up this morning in a tangle of sweaty limbs and fur only to realize my room smells like Park Station in Boston. One son has managed to pee in two distinctly different places in the bed. The stench of urine is overwhelming. As I sleepily make my way to the bathroom I realize he's managed to actually pee on me somehow, like a dog marking his territory. My gag reflexes kick in - thank God I'm already in the bathroom.So I'm off to one more day of soccer-mania during which I'll be secretly rooting against my son's team because the thought of placing well and thereby playing an extra game tonight makes me want to poke my eye out with a dull spoon.I wonder if I can get "Hotel Rwanda" On Demand?If you like my blog you’ll love my book. Buy The Working Mommy’s Manual on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Working-Mommys-Manual-Nicole-Corning/dp/0615637418/ref=cm_sw_em_r_dp_6ZRcqb0QFT7P8_tt