Let’s get this out of the way right now: Being late is unacceptable. Completely, entirely, unequivocally unacceptable. It’s not ever ok to be late. Ever. You will never get me to agree that there is a time when being late is not an abomination. When you are late to a business event, be it a meeting or when you start your shift at your job, you are showing how little respect you have for your employer and co-workers. When you’re late to a social engagement, even when it’s getting coffee with a friend, you’re demonstrating that you don’t value anyone else’s time and think people have nothing better to do than wait around for you. There is nothing that makes me more furious than when I am made to wait because someone is late. Get your shit together. Be on time.
With that in mind you can imagine how upset I was to be running late to work this morning. Fortunately, I’ve been running late before but I’ve never actually been late. I know how long it takes me to drive places and I behave accordingly. If I’m expected to be someplace in 30 minutes and it takes me 20 minutes to drive there, then you can bet your bottom dollar I’m backing out of my driveway in 10 minutes. So when the alarm clock on my kindle didn’t go off (thanks Obama) I woke up to find I had 40 minutes to do what usually takes me an hour and I was not a happy camper.
Having to get up in the morning is much more of an ordeal when you have kids. Before, if I was running late I would have rolled out of bed, pulled on the pants I wore the day before, brushed my teeth while peeing (don’t judge me I can multitask) and ran out the door. Now even when I’m on schedule, when I wake up in the morning the first order of business is always changing the babies’ diapers and feeding them. There’s no way around that. I can’t say “Sorry children, marinate in your own filth because mommy has to make coffee before she’s functional.” There’s no “Too bad that you’re hungry, infant, mommy needs a shower.”
Heaven forbid I have to bring them with me. I’m fairly certain it took less planning and organization to get men on the moon than it does to get me and my brats on the road. An hour before we can leave the house I have to start the process. Both of them have to be fed. Both of them have to be dressed. Both need clean diapers. And shoes. And neat hair. And clean spare outfits in the diaper bag. And clean diapers. And snacks. And toys. Hats. Gloves. Coats. THEN, and only then, can I get them into the car.
So. With having to do all that I still get to where I need to be on time, every time. No excuses.