FAMILY TIME: A Mother’s Quest to Beat the Clock

TYPICAL STORY: We’ve got gymnastics class/playdate/doctor’s appointment/class at the gym/something in an hour and a half. I wake up the girls to get the getting-ready ritual started.

This time, we’ll be on time. Maybe, we’ll even be early.

I get them their warm milk and flip on Curious George for their daily half-hour TV fix, then start prepping breakfast. During the second half of the show, we eat our waffles and bananas.

Things are going smoothly. Maybe this time…

After the show ends (usually a few minutes after that because let’s face it, does any 3-year-old eat quickly?), we head upstairs. Preschooler demonstrates her latest climbing tricks as we ascend.

Upstairs, I send preschooler to the potty while I change the baby’s diapers. However, she claims not to feel the urge and negotiations ensue. Ten minutes later, kids are pottied and hands are washed. We’re all still in our pajamas.

Time check: 40 minutes to be on time.

We go into the big girl room to select clothes for the day. Inevitably, she wants to wear a dress. But not the ones I pick out. I swore before I had kids that I wouldn’t succumb to arguing with wee ones about clothes when I was a mom. But somehow, here I am debating the virtues of a slightly less spinny dress that provides the added benefit of long sleeves and accompanying leggings that will keep her warm in the event that we stop by the playground after said appointment. We finally agree and I leave her to get herself dressed.

I take the baby into her room and finish getting her changed. This goes smoothly until I realize she’s out of clean socks. I race to my room and dig through the baskets of clean laundry I just haven’t had time to distribute in the past couple of days.

Kids are dressed. I am not. Once again, I opt to forgo the shower – at least for now. I see yesterday’s jeans on the floor next to my bed where I dropped them last night as I rushed to bed hours later than I’d hoped after spending way too long cleaning dinner dishes and straightening the house. They’re pretty clean. I throw them on and pull on a clean shirt. I brush my hair and my teeth, and throw on some blush and lip gloss while the baby empties my vanity drawers and the preschooler plays in the covers of my bed. Good thing I didn’t take the time to make it!

Good enough. We’ve got 13 minutes. It takes seven to get where we’re going. I’ve read once that you should calculate when you need to leave to get where you’re going on time, then add 15 minutes to determine your “load time.” Well, by that measure, we’re already late. But in real time, we can do it!

I rush everyone downstairs. We get to the bottom and I realize only the baby has shoes on. I run up, step into mine and bring some for my preschooler. She works on hers while I get jackets. I distribute the jackets and open the door. Wait! The diaper bag. I run back to the coat closet for the diaper bag, grab it, grab my purse, grab my phone which is sitting in the charging station and not in my purse where it should be.

Eight minutes.

We burst out the door. “Run to your car door and get in,” I urge. “Run, run, run.” I lock the door, carry the baby to her car seat and strap her in while my industrious preschooler climbs in and over her seat to reach a toy she dropped yesterday. “Get in your seat!” I remind her. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

I run around the car and help her finish with her buckles. I run back around, hop in the car turn the key and look for the clock. Six minutes to go. Shoot! Maybe they’ll be late. Maybe we’ll hit all the lights just right. Maybe…

No, in spite of the fact that we had a full hour and a half to get ready, we’ll be late again. Ah!

IT'S SAD and embarrassing, but reality. We have a heck of a time getting anywhere on time. It’s true that preschoolers are not known for speed.

My friend Lesley posted on her Facebook page a few weeks ago about her 3-year-old son: “I think we're going to start teaching the art of the "Hustle"… maybe we'll do sprints in the backyard when the sun comes out... I've got to speed this kid up!”

However, let’s be clear. While preschoolers are giant impediments in the quest to be punctual, they cannot be blamed. They are living and exploring and learning. They are not the one making time commitments. It is the adults who must lead. Who must prepare. Who must teach. We must take responsibility. And frankly, the daily fire drills could not be healthy. Every time I do my “hurry, hurry” chant, I worry about the stress I’m causing and the bad habits I must be teaching.

I know there are a number of things I could do improve. I could cut out the hot milk/TV ritual – although that’s such a nice, relaxing way to wake up for my kiddos. But rushing my wee ones to wake up without milk in the morning is like asking me to jump up and start working with no coffee. So, we’ve got to build at least part of that in. But maybe it could be after we’re ready to go. Hmmm.

We could – and should –  lay out the clothes the night before. We tried that for a while, actually, but it got dropped when the great debates made us even later for bed.

We could go to bed earlier and start waking up earlier. We’re working on that one. You’d think a recent trip to the east coast would make this one easier, but somehow, my house full of night owls reset to Pacific Time within hours. Go figure.

I probably should cut out more of our commitments. Do less, better. I should also hold more sacred our transition times. Oh, we have two hours before we need to be at X place? Maybe I could swing by Y and Z and get those things off my list. And, yes, there goes our advantage. It becomes a race to get to X on time

I could respect the 15-minute “load time” rule. The rule is brilliant because inevitably, that time gets used – whether by a diaper blow-out, a phone call, a forgotten juice cup or a missing pair of sunglasses. Worst case scenario? We end up somewhere early!

I definitely should be thinking through the next day the night before and lining up all the requisite “stuff” in advance so there are no last-minute searches… for ballet shoes, car keys, etc.

But then, it makes my night later. In the morning, I hit snooze, justifying my irresponsible behavior as being good for my health.

Excuses, excuses.

I hate being late. It’s stressful and inconsiderate of other people’s time, and I feel terrible when I leave people waiting.

So, friends, strangers… I apologize if I come rushing in a few minutes late with babies and bags hanging on me in my day-old jeans. We’re working on getting it together. And we will.

But for now, I’ve got to go wake up the kids. Two and a half hours until gymnastics class. We’ve got to be able to make this one on time…