When it comes to time, I’m never early. I’m rarely on time, and I’m usually late. I believe the reasons for my time deficiencies are out of my control. In fact, it’s rarely my fault. My husband, on the other hand, believes that I have an internal clock that is “off.” Apparently this warped internal clock affects my ability to think rationally about time. So he says.<\/p>\n
My explanation is quite different and quite simple: It’s not all my fault. My inability to be on time has much to do with three little people that are attached to me twenty-four hours a day. In fact, I’m actually very organized in the way I carve out time. If I have to be somewhere, I plan how each minute will be spent up until the departure time.<\/p>\n
But, I know I can’t blame all of the time deficiency on our children. I admit that I carve in no extra time for mishaps; there is no “just in case” moments built in. And, I should know by now, mishaps are inevitable with three, young children. Were I a single person, my time lines just might work out perfectly. However, I’m not. Perhaps someday this will sink in.<\/p>\n
My sister, Bekah<\/span>, has been in town the last couple of days. We had a plan that included me picking her up at 9:45 a.m. This meant departure time for the day would be 9:30 a.m. I figured I would have plenty of time to get things done around the house before we had to leave for the day. So, I mentally planned out my time line. It was set, and I was ready for it. By 9:30 a.m., I would easily be out of the house while still accomplishing everything on my “to do” list.<\/p>\n At 5:45 a.m. my alarm went off. My intention was to get up, take a jog, jump in the shower, and be completely ready before we had to wake up the two older kids at 7:15 for school. I looked at the time and thought about my little time table for the morning. So much to do before 9:30.<\/p>\n That was the last thing I remember. The next time my eyes opened it was 6:20. I jumped out of bed, figuring I would readjust a few areas on the time line and still be fine. By 7:20 I was back from a jog and ran upstairs to wake up the kids. No time for a shower. Getting the kids ready took twice as long because Jrod<\/span> fought against me helping him. I was “sweaty and smelly,” so he asked that I stay away – far away. After rejecting his request several times, I finally caved. It was taking too long to help him get dressed with one hand over his nose.<\/p>\n Finally, Ella and Jrod<\/span> were dressed, fed, packed up, and out the door. I was right on schedule. Except for the shower. Regardless, I felt pretty good about my time line and all that I had accomplished thus far. I could finish everything I needed to twenty minutes earlier than planned and would fit in that shower just in time to walk out the door.<\/p>\n After an hour of emails, cleaning, trying to rationalize with a two year old why she can’t eat cookies for breakfast, writing, and laundry I was finally finished with all that I had hope to accomplish….and all right on time. Except for the shower.<\/p>\n I had a half hour before we had to leave – plenty of time to shower and get ready. I set Lily in front of cartoons and quickly made my way up the stairs. One minute later Lily swung open the bathroom door asking for a “bubble bath.” When I told her no, I realized the temper tantrum would take up more time than the bath. So I turned on the water, added the bubbles, and stuck her in the tub. It was now ten after nine. I could still take a quick shower.<\/p>\n About a minute into my shower, Lily began screaming. I got out, soap in my hair, and saw her pointing frantically to something in the bath. My daughter has pooped in the tub before, and because my anxiety level goes up, so does hers. She began crying and screaming “clean up!” My thoughts exactly. Gross.<\/p>\n So, I pulled her out of the tub, put her in a towel and began the ugly process. Once everything was cleaned and Cloroxed<\/span>, I filled the tub back up. For a brief moment, I felt OK. But then I looked at the clock: 9:28. I called my sister. The soap was beginning to dry in my hair.<\/p>\n “Um, Bek<\/span>. I’m going to be a little bit late. I think I can get out of here in the next ten minutes.” I will admit that this is when my sense of time goes drastically awry. I realize it every time, in hind site, but when I’m in the midst of trying to get out the door somehow I’m convinced I can do it.<\/p>\n She assured me it was fine and told me she’d see me around 10:00. Once I was showered and ready, I opened the drain to let Lily’s bath water out. The second temper tantrum of the day began, and there was no diverting this one. She wanted the water, but she simply couldn’t have it. We had to be in the car in three minutes.<\/p>\n She lay prostrate in the tub with all the water drained. It’s amazing the positions that child can hold when she wills it to happen. I took her out, straight as a board, and did my best to dress her. By the time Lily was in the car, it was 9:55. A 10:00 a.m. arrival time was going to be, well, difficult.<\/p>\n As soon as I started the engine, I realized that I wasn’t entirely sure about the directions to where Bekah<\/span> and I were headed for the day. Here is another part of my time tables that I all too often neglect: I have a terrible sense of direction. And when I say terrible, I mean it’s bad. It’s really bad. In high school, when my sense of direction was at it’s worst, I ended up in east St. Louis…trying to get to West County Mall.<\/p>\n Acknowledging<\/span> the fact that getting lost was an extreme possibility, I ran back inside and tried to pull up “Map Quest” on my computer. After speaking unkind words to my frozen laptop, I got back in the car, map less<\/span>.<\/p>\n The time was 10:05. At least I made it out of the house. There was a point, around 9:45, when I actually wondered if that was going to happen. As I sped away to pick up my sister, Bekah<\/span>, I called my other sister. From Georgia, she found the directions to where we were supposed to go. While trying to memorize exit numbers, I heard a terrible, terrible sound.<\/p>\n There is not much that triggers my tear reflex, but the sound of a cop car following behind me gets those tears flowing. I don’t have to conjure it up; I don’t even have to will them to come. It’s remarkable, quite actually, how well it works. I hung up on my sister and pulled off to the side of the road.<\/p>\n The officer approached my door. “Good morning, Ma’am. Can I have your license and registration?” I had sunglasses on, so I figured I could hide my inability to keep my composure, but I was unable to do so. I snorted through my tears. How utterly embarrassing.<\/p>\n “Ma’am, licence and registration?” I was digging through my purse trying to find my wallet. I took out about ten lollipops<\/span>, two baby dolls<\/span>, three “ABC” books, two plastic containers full of crackers and goldfish, several packets of fruit snacks, two diapers, and an extra large packet of Wet Ones. By the time I retrieved the Wet Ones, my hands were shaking. But then, at the bottom of my “purse,” was my wallet. Thank the Lord.<\/p>\n I pulled out my license, and then gave the officer the other card that I thought he asked for.<\/p>\n “Ma’am? Ma’am this is your health insurance. I’m going to need your car insurance.”<\/p>\n Good grief. I pulled out the next card and handed it to the officer, not in a composed sort of way.<\/p>\n “Ma’am, this card expired in 2008. Do you have a more current one?”<\/p>\n I opened up my wallet and snorted again. I pulled out another card and handed it to the officer.<\/p>\n “Ma’am, this card expired in 2009. Do you have one that’s up-to-date?”<\/p>\n At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he put his hand on his gun. One of those “just in case” moments. I became a little frantic, not knowing what to do. So, I asked the officer if I could have a minute, picked up my cell phone, and called my husband.<\/p>\n Chris had a busy morning and at that particular time I knew he was in the middle of ministering to a refugee family in the city. I only call him during these times if it’s an emergency. My husband has his own commentary on this 30 second interaction, but here is what the officer heard: “Look, I’m sorry that I interrupted the prayer….can’t you just go to another room….well I’m crying too…I can’t find our car insurance….because I got stopped….I really was not going that fast….how long will it take you to get here from there…thirty five minutes….” At this point the officer interrupted<\/span>, so I hung up.<\/p>\n “Ma’am, um, why don’t you check the glove compartment?”<\/p>\n Right. I opened the glove compartment and low and behold – the 2010 car insurance. I handed it to the officer and he went back to his car, probably grateful to get away from me for a few minutes.<\/p>\n The first phone call was to my sister, Bekah<\/span>. In the midst of my sobs, I explained to her why it was now 10:15 and I was still not there. She graciously told me it would be alright. I wanted more sympathy, so I decided to call my other sister. As soon as I began to dial, Lily began screaming. She wanted to get out of the car and take a walk. I tried to pull myself together for my daughter’s sake. “Lily,” in the midst of sobs, “mommy was speeding because<\/span> she was trying to get to Auntie Bekah<\/span> on time, even though I was already totally late. I am now in trouble with a police officer, and possibly your father, and I would appreciate if you would just be quiet for a few minutes.”<\/p>\n It was a one way conversation. She started to scream louder. The officer approached my door again, looked in the back at Lily, and looked back to me. “Ma’am, crying gets me every time. I’m letting you go with a warning. Have a good day.” I waved my arm because I couldn’t speak, due to my emotion overload.<\/p>\n I looked at the clock: 10:18. For a moment, I just sat there. At that point I was only thirty three minutes late. Pushing thirty four minutes, I decided in that moment that I was going to turn over a new leaf. I decided in that moment that I would I would re-define my time lines. I decided in that moment that I was going to be an on time person.<\/p>\n The next day, I needed to be out of the house by 9:15. We pulled out of the driveway at 9:35. My husband is right – my internal clock must be off. I’m just glad it’s not my fault.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When it comes to time, I’m never early. I’m rarely on time, and I’m usually late. I believe the reasons … <\/p>\n