Late

I hate showing up late; to anything. I like to arrive early and relaxed so I can get a good seat, mingle, or simply give the impression that I have everything under control. Unfortunately, that rarely happens. I am late far more often than I care to be, but I usually have a great excuse. It’s not because I have slept late or I have forgotten the appointment (that only happened once), but because I am a mommy. Let me explain.  I am late because my two-year-old doesn’t understand the word hurry. I’m late because he doesn’t understand that we don’t wear the dress shoes with play clothes. I’m late because we can’t find the match to the shoe he is wearing. I’m late because he says “Me do” and I let him try, knowing full well that he doesn’t have the dexterity to put the button through the hole.  I’m late because even though I am already dressed, I have to change clothes because while my son was eating he wanted a hug, and the process of giving him one, I got some of his cereal on by blouse. I’m late because I remember that there are no wipes in the diaper bag. I’m late because I remember we will be out longer, so the diaper bag must have a drink, snacks, and toys. I’m late because I’m trying to find quiet toys. I’m late because I fear people will pass out in disgust if they see me without makeup, so I go apply some on. I am late because I can’t find the match to the shoe I’m wearing. It was in the closet the day before, but then again, so was my two-year-old playing with them. There’s no telling where it is so I change shoes completely.   I’m late because as we start to head out the door I breathe in and become aware that my son has pooped his pants.  I lay him down and grab the diaper bag. I remove the toys, juice, snacks (which my son wants because he has seen them), and wipes only to discover that there were no diapers in there.  I’m glad the poopy happened in my living room. I’m late because as I’m on the floor of the living room I see my lost shoe under the couch, so I change shoes again.   I’m late because while trying to keep the snacks away I remember that I never ate breakfast, so I have to rush to the kitchen and make me a peanut butter sandwich to take with me.  I’m late because on the way out to the van my son falls and scrapes his hand.  The recovery process requires a kiss from me but because my hands are full with a purse (which does not match the second outfit I have on), diaper bag, and keys, there is a sandwich in my mouth, so a kiss is not possible.  I’m late because there are four steps to strap my son in his car seat and he wants to “Me do” every one of them. I am late because even though we have arrived at our destination, there are four steps to unstrap my son from his seat and, well, you get the picture.

                So if you’re ever someplace and you see me come in late with peanut butter around my mouth, a purse that looks ridiculous with what I’m wearing, holding a child who’s holding his hurt hand, and carrying an unzipped diaper bag, please don’t judge my tardiness. Just come up and hug me. I’ll need it.