Children foil attempt to be on time

I hate being late. It is my single biggest pet peeve, both when people are late, and when I am late myself.

Yet, here I am at 9:30 a.m., and I've already been late for three things today.

I want to change, really, I do!

If you want me to click on a link, or read an article, or a book, or have me devote 110 percent attention to something, just title it "How to Never Be Late Again."

I've tried all the tricks.

Every clock in my house is set to a different time, anywhere between 5 to 10 minutes ahead.

Unfortunately, my cellphone keeps syncing itself to the "world clock" so I always have a cheat and know exactly what time it is.

So, even though I looked at the wall clock and panicked myself into action because I thought I was late, I sneaked a peak at the phone, and chilled out because I had five minutes that I could try to finish another task before I REALLY had to leave.

I pack everything and lay everything out the night before. I do my best to pack everyone else's bag, or at least send them off to pack their own bags. Someone needs to tell me how I can tell a 10-year-old 15 times to remember to pack a swimsuit in his bag for a swim meet, and he can't remember it after any of those 15 times, but he can remember that he forgot to pack it 5 minutes after we get on the road in the morning.

Returning to the house is going to cost us, but it will allow me to get the perishable snacks I packed up and forgot in the refrigerator.

I always plan to leave 5 minutes ahead of time, and allow plenty of time for travel. I purposely set reminders that are 15 minutes ahead of what time things actually start. I've even been known to fudge a little and tell people (cough … cough Wonderful Husband) that things start at an earlier time. But those little windows of time turn into windows of opportunity, and when I am almost where I need to be and have 5 extra minutes, I decide that I can quickly run into the grocery store and grab that loaf of bread that I needed.

Of course, Murphy and his little law raise their ugly head and all of the people with 12 items are camped out in the 10-item-only line, and the checker will run out of nickels right before she makes my change.

I know this, and yet, I am convinced that it won't happen … THIS time. I want to blame it on my kids, and they really do account for about 75 percent of my lateness.

Every parent knows that "Get your coat and shoes on, it's time to leave!" is really code for "It's time to go to the bathroom" or "It's time to throw a tantrum because your sock feels funny."

In our house, if I want my kids to spend a good 10 minutes brushing their teeth and combing their hair, all I have to do is say, "Hurry up and brush your teeth, we are late!"

I guarantee you they will spend more time in front of that bathroom mirror than Narcissus.

"Time to leave!" is also code for E, the 6-year-old, who can open 20 bottles of childproof Tylenol in record time, to forget how shoes work. Accessories are killing me here of late, as she simply can't leave the house without her purse, her "computer bag," a scarf or two, a headband, a hat, and some gloves.

Of course, the headband cannot be worn under the hat, so it has to be removed and tucked away into the purse, in fact it's the sole reason we need to carry the purse, and then the hat needs to be installed so as not to mess up the hair. After she's got all that arranged, she pulls on her gloves. At that point, she usually realizes that she did not yet put on her shoes. Every. Single. Time. We. Leave. The. House.

I've asked her to try to take a more "bottoms up" approach, rather than "top down," but E has her priorities, and right now it's hair and purses, and not shoes.

Then, there is always the unexpected meltdown which will completely derail an entire morning. The other morning, E laid on the floor for about 15 minutes sobbing uncontrollably because she was "freezing to death cold."

My suggestions that she perhaps consider putting some clothes on (she was in her skivvies) only added fuel to the fire of her indignation. After 10 minutes of waiting in the car, I no longer had time to practice my tried and true method of "Walk Away and Ignore It." The ensuing tussle to wrangle her into clothing resulted in me needing a clothing change as well. Guess who was late again?

Some days, though, everyone seems to be on the same wavelength. Everyone has their bags packed, everyone is dressed, and relatively clean, and getting their shoes and coats on, and for once, we might stand a chance of being on time.

That is usually the point where I notice that quite a bit of G's butt crack is visible. It slowly dawns on me that my middle child is going commando, and we are once again delayed, as he has decided that I need a dissertation on why he doesn't feel underwear are a necessity. I'm not giving up, though. Sooner or later, the kids are going to either realize that resistance is futile or get tired of me ranting about being late.

If that fails, my hope is that their social schedules are eventually going to require timeliness and a chauffeur. I think that's going to be right about the time that I have to fix my funny feeling sock.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News.