Why I am just learning this lesson now is beyond me. Maybe it took having 2 kids to throw me off my game. You see, I HATE being late. Well, not as much as I hate it when other people are late, but still. I am one of those neurotic people who is so paranoid about being late that I end up being ridiculously early. Therefore, this lesson was a hard pill to swallow. You can just imagine what being chronically late does for my neurosis about being late. It's a vicious cycle.
Now that I'm resigned to the fact that I will never again be on time, EVER, I started thinking about why I can never seem to get from point A to point B in a timely manner. I have come to the conclusion that while there are many events that cause my late-ness, there is usually only one reason: children. And, unfortunately for me, these events caused by my children typically involve bodily functions.
Take the other weekend for example. I was totally psyched that we were actually leaving the house on time! Woohoo! We might actually end up where we are supposed to be at the time we are supposed to be there! YES! Everyone fed, clothed, and groomed? Check. Seventy trillion bags packed? Check. Everyone in the car? Check. That's when my 3 year old dropped the bomb on me (literally and figuratively): "Mommy, I pooped again." That one set us back a good 20 minutes.
This morning as we were about to exit the humble abode we experienced what I like to refer to as the "Baby Blast". You know, when you're all ready to go and the baby erupts like Mount St. Frickin Helens, drowning you both in puke-ola. This can set you back anywhere from 5 minutes (if you just wipe it up and call it good) to 15 minutes (if you have to change both your outfit and his). This morning it was a wipe and run morning so we actually made it (almost) on time to our destination.
I have also discovered that "start time" has no impact on time of departure. It doesn't matter how early I get up, we will still be late. I could get up at 4am and somehow, some way, we would be late. By the time I get in the car, I feel like I've run a marathon and I'm jonesin' for a cup-o-joe like Whitney Houston craves crack. Then I think to myself, "What the heck, we're late anyway. Might as well hit the drive through."