perpetual child delay...

i'm the kind of girl... at least i used to be... that was mostly on time.

by that i mean i usually arrived at my destination right on the nose... give or take a minute or two... 90% of the time.  while i know this wasn't best practice, it is basically how i've functioned my entire life.  yes... sometimes i'd occasionally be 5 minutes late.  but for the most part, i was there when i was supposed to be. therefore, i've always considered myself one of those punctual-ish people... though not quite as impeccable as my parents.

my mom... she's 15-20 minutes early to every place.  i'm pretty sure my dad was about the same as well.  this isn't because of a generational gap -  they were/are basically just the most decent human beings you've ever met and they would never disrespect you by being late... not even for the most casual of occasions.  

going grocery shopping with my mom?  she'll be at your house ten minutes early.  

me?  i'm punctual-ish.

the problem with this mindset is that then i had children and now i'm on a constant child delay.  to illustrate how much i cogitate upon this perpetual lag in my life, here is an excerpt from an email i sent kjaer last week after my drive into work:

got out of the door at 7:27.  was feeling so proud I was actually leaving 6 minutes earlier than my usual lateness and ON TIME.  got stuck behind a caterpillar bulldozer on Dayton from 6^th to that next major light.  basically showed up at work at my normal time. (five minutes late)

I’M TELLING YOU… I CAN NOT WIN!  :/

and that's the way it always goes these days.  i have two small children and a senile dog who will poop on his hind legs should there be a whisper of punctuality.  and though i have instituted a plethora of precautionary measures meant to ensure our punctuality to preschool/work/church, nothing seems to help.  

precautionary measures include:   

-exercising and taking my shower at night 

-setting an alarm 15 minutes before we're supposed to be backing out of the driveway

-revising said alarm to 30 minutes before we're supposed to leave to include going potty and brushing teeth

-packing bags/diaper bags the night before and sometimes even loading them in the car by moonlight

-packing lunch night before

-making coffee and setting timer night before

-waking up 5 minutes earlier

-waking up 10 minutes earlier

-waking up 30 minutes earlier
-resorting to a daily "messy bun" and no longer styling my hair

seriously... 

it doesn't matter. 

i'm cursed. 

it's like i'm sisyphus... pushing two children out the door and into a car.

to further my case of how i just can't win... let us cozy up and hear the tale of last thursday.  

leif goes to pre-school on tuesdays and thursdays- my days off.  he needs to be there at 9:15... seems like a reasonable time of day, right?  i mean, since having children i haven't slept past 7 AM so you'd think that two hours to get myself and two small beings out the door would be plenty of time.  especially since i have put all of the precautionary measures in place over this past school year.

negative. nope.  never.

we still stroll into preschool 2-7 minutes late...

every.

time.

i feel the director eyeballing me as i charge through the door every tuesday and thursday like a wrecking ball. 

what's worse is, i'm a freaking teacher for pete's sake.  

you'd think i could get my own child to school on time.  

but no.

so this particular thursday morning, things were going fairly smoothly.  both children were dressed, hair was combed and pig-tailed, bags were packed and i was waiting for the 30 minute timer to start our exodus.  i was SO ready.  nothing was going to stop me.  i could literally visualize us pulling out of the driveway at 8:58. looking back, i probably should repent for my cockiness.  

so the timer on the oven beeps with the 30 minute countdown and i ask leif to turn off Curious George (yes... he still loves ol' c.g... and i love that he loves him so) and go to the bathroom.  i could see the funnel cloud form above his head.  there was an exchange of angry three year old words with mommy-who-wants-to-be-on-time words which might have included something about not being able to watch curious george later that evening since he was throwing a tantrum.  gnashing of teeth ensued.

(so there, young dawdling child!)

and, as if it were airborne, henley started crying and i can't even remember why.

so i was in the throws of trying to survive a double whammy tantrum.  but i could not be swayed.  i was going to get us to preschool on time by golly.  a freight train wasn't going to stop this expedition.  so i gave hugs and kisses and bribed henley with bringing toys like elmo and baby doll and "packpacks" out to the car.  i held hands, carried and gently rounded up my offspring in the general direction of the car. they moved like bellowing cattle, and i was their patient, punctual cowgirl.  

once leif was out front in the fresh air, his tantrum cleared up as quickly as it had surged, and he stood upon his picnic table in the front yard and surveyed the land. he does this from time to time, like Simba on pride rock.  who knows, he could also be checking the weather and listening for prey as well, but i usually take it as my moment to buckle henley in... which turned into another fit because she is now undeniably two.

t.w.o.

... and she likes to punctuate her thoughts with "I DO IT" while she feebly plays with her buckles for an eternity.  should you even to attempt to help her do anything without her consent, be ready for the toddler assaults and screams to fly.  this takes a very fine act of trying to offer my help but making her think it's her idea.  i have not quite perfected my strategy with her yet... as being fiercely independent has just recently reared it's ugly head.  so it takes us a while.  

but i'm not shaken.  

i've got this. 

i am a punctual goddess.

meanwhile, leif has started walking his domain and i remember a spray of diarrhea from our fossil of a dog that had been lain earlier that morning.  I leave henley's side, and show leif where it is like an air traffic controller, motioning my arms this way and that,  with a gentle reminder to watch where he's walking.  he looks at me like, oh my!  where did that come from?!?

(you know where i'm headed... don't you?)

i head back around to henley and check my phone.  we're doing good.  i can see the finish line.  my angelic son is calmly waiting for me and  i'm nearly done with his adorable, yet fiesty sister.  i cue leif to enter the car and get started on his seat belt when finally, henley gets the brilliant idea that we should work together on this tricky thing called a car seat buckle... to which i happily oblige, give high fives, load her dolls and books in and shut her door.  

success!!!

meanwhile, leif hops in the car, his little blue eyes sparkling as he starts to ask me his usual round of curious questions while climbing into his car seat.  

and i see it.  

i see it before i smell it.

a little bit of grass and.... something... on the end of his boot.  

FREEZE! i say... a bit loudly perhaps.

leif... did you... step in poop?

he looks at me, confused.

DON'T MOVE, i say firmly, running around the car to lift him out.  

and there it was... all over his little boots.  

NO, I REFUSE!!! I WILL NOT FALL TO THIS ATROCITY!!!!

i have him go sit on the stoop and remove his boots.  he's very sweet and apologetic.  i knew it wasn't on purpose of course... though it sort of feels like it.  i dash back into the house to grab another set of shoes.  i toss them on leif and have him run to the car while i put trooper's diaper back on and get him into the house.  i see the clock... 9:02.  

i can't believe this... i might be OK... i might only be a couple minutes late.  

i start tearing out of our house like i'm on a Wipe Out obstacle course when i hear leif call to me... "mom?  i think i got poop on your seat."

no!  it can't be!  i think.  it's mud from the other day.  don't panic.

i get to him to adjust his seat belt and there it is... smudged on my back seat.  for a second i entertain the thought of leaving it there until after preschool drop off.  but i couldn't.  i just couldn't.  living with a 105 year old dog makes you feel pretty sick and tired of smelling excrement from ancient bowels.  

so i get henley's diaper wipes out and clean off my seat, find all of the blankets and objects that leif had inadvertently stepped on when entering the car, toss them into the back of my car and jump into the drivers seat.  i turn the key... the clock reads 9:07.  

DAMN IT!!!

i drive to preschool like a defeated soul who just can't go on.  i can already picture pulling into the parking lot with all of the other mom's exiting the school (in their designer outfits and flawless makeup, of course) staring at me in slow-motion as i lull by them... top knot in my hair and the same sweatshirt and ripped up jeans i wear every week.  they chant "tar-dy, tar-dy, tar-dy!" pumping their fists high into the morning sky, while i unload my littles (and toys and packpacks) and mosey into the building.  one lady leans over and whispers to another, "how can someone be late at nine.fifteen.in.the.morning?" and the other responds, "What will she do when kindergarten begins and he has to be at school by 7:45?"   i do my best to shake this vision from my head as i pull into an empty space and unload.  

there are no more excuses.  we have an old, sick dog has been used many times.  i'm in the middle of helping my mom move has been an excuse.  it doesn't matter.  there's always an excuse.  always.  my son accidentally walked through poop or we got stuck behind a giant tractor on a one lane road just doesn't seem to suffice.  i want to weep at the feet of his sweet preschool teacher and beg for forgiveness.  i want to explain that i'm a teacher and deal with tardiness all of the time from other parents and students.  i used to (pre-children, of course) shake my head at that one mom who just couldn't get her shit together and i'd think, "just leave 5 minutes earlier! it's not that hard."

yes, judgy monica of yesteryear.  it IS hard.  it is SO freaking hard.  it's hard to stay calm while moving your little brood out the car every morning.  it's hard to make sure everyone has brushed teeth, that 50% of your children have combed hair on most days and everything they need to successfully move throughout the day.  it's hard to do all of that, plus care for a house,  your husband, yourself, and your senile, dying dog.  it's hard to do this amazingly wonderful job of being a parent.

so that does it.  i'm declaring my life in a perpetual five minute delay.  you want me somewhere?  lie and tell me it's starting 10 minutes earlier than it really is.  who knows, maybe i'd walk in on time.  as for me, i'm going to try giving myself a little more grace.  

my children are kind and sweet. 

i'm madly in love with their dad,

who's madly in love with us.

we all love each other to the marrow.  

my babes are well-fed.  
they are happy.

they are amazing.  

but, i'm sorry, they have one flaw.  
they will be five minutes late to whatever they're supposed to be doing from now on.