Yes, I'm Late. Here's Why It's Not My Fault

Being late is rude. I get that. I have frequently been on the giving and receiving end of lateness, and it feels bad either way.

But I’m going to finally confess something that I think you all need to know: I, myself, am an organized, respectful, timely person who just happens to be raising little people who want to make me look bad in front of others. Yep, it’s true.

Here are the reasons why it’s not my fault when I’m late:

1. My 3-year-old daughter’s greatest desire is to thwart me with her fashion choices. She’s an adorable child who insists on looking like a hot mess every time she walks out the door. And for those of you who say, “You are her mother. You should have control,” well, the only thing I can say is that this one can make a Buddhist monk look indecisive.

2. My 8-year-old son’s greatest desire is to be doing anything besides what he should be doing, including arguing the many-layered dimensions of sock-wearing, purposely making his sister lose her mind, and hiding and creating detailed vampire maps while he is supposed to be brushing his teeth

3. The pre-activity food refusal. Murphy’s Law of Children states that children are only hungry when miles from any sustenance.

4. My kids move like they have cement in their underpants. And if I say, “Hurry up!” the cement seeps down into their shoes and they just stand there and look at me until I turn that shade of purple that finally frightens them into action.

5. They are very unhelpful people. I would say completely useless. They have no interest in whether or not they make it anywhere on time, and their arms are weak noodles that can’t even carry a grocery bag.

6. The stuff. The snacks, the water, the extra clothes, the oversized bag of random shit that goes with us everywhere and has begun to pile so high that we are a driving advertisement for Car Hoarders R Us and birth control.

7. The inevitable meltdown. Usually by me, somewhere between the house and car, because they are seriously still just standing there.

8. The last-second poop ambush. This happens so frequently that I have come to think that the sound of the buckle clicking on the cars eat activates my daughter’s bowels.

9. Their faces! They are getting older, so I don’t typically take a good, hard look at their faces until we are driving out of the driveway, and then I’m scared at the amount of stuff that has accumulated. My daughter could usually eat lunch from what I scrape off of her face.

10. My forgotten stuff. Because I am so freaked out about forgetting Hello Kitty! and also a trough of water for my son who is a very thirsty car passenger, I inevitably forget where I’m going, what I’m doing and why I care.

So I will apologize in advance if, the next time we schedule something together, I show up a little frazzled and worn. I’ll cut you some slack too.

And please also know that I did not pick out that child’s outfit.