I’ve never been what one would call “punctual.” When it was just me, I could get my act together enough to be within that five minute window of acceptability, but it was somehow always a struggle. That ability went out the window the day we brought the twins home. Lest you think this is going to be one of those posts filled with excuses for why I can’t possibly be on time, so everyone else should just deal, don’t worry. I recognize that I am 100% the problem here. I would LOVE to be on time. I hate being late. I end up flustered, and stressed out, and snapping at my kids about stuff that’s not entirely their fault.

But, for real, I don’t know what to change to make it better. Here’s how a typical morning goes when I have an appointment scheduled:

1.       I think about how long it should take me to get ready, and then I remember that I am ALWAYS late, so I double it. There. That should be plenty of time.

2.       I turn the shower on.

3.       Addie, despite being parked in front of a movie she begged to watch, comes upstairs to ask a vitally important question. Usually it pertains to the likelihood of her having a snack at that exact moment.

4.       Snack procured, Addie goes downstairs.

5.       I step in the shower, and then make the tragic mistake of wetting my hair.

6.       Addie reappears to inform me that a brother smells bad.

7.       She is displeased to hear I have no intention of fixing that situation this exact second, and that she must leave my bathroom.

8.       I shampoo my hair, only to hear an ominous thud from somewhere in the house.

9.       I grab a towel, and try to figure out if the thud came from any of the kids.

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10.   Obviously it was Addie pretending to be a mermaid, and she is displeased that I interrupted her. Apparently I ruined the authenticity of her under-the-sea scene.

11.   I manage to rinse the shampoo out, but decide that conditioner is probably a bridge too far.

12.   I start to blow dry my hair, and am interrupted by Addie running into the room crying because the hair dryer is too loud. I suggest that if she went downstairs she probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. Addie is, once again, displeased.

13.   I then remember that one of the brothers apparently smells bad, so I go downstairs to investigate.

14.   Apparently, “smells bad” is code for “pooped literally everywhere oh my God please send help.”

15.   Addie gags and runs away.

16.   I wish I could too.

17.   Brother is stripped, bathed, and re-dressed. I wonder if it might be easier to just burn the house down and start over, but instead settle on stain treating the swing, and starting a load of laundry.

18.   Brothers are good and awake now, and think they might like to eat. Addie decides that she is famished as well.

19.   I allow Addie to eat another snack in front of the TV, while I sit next to her and nurse the boys. I decide this counts as valuable family together time, what with us all being in the same room and all.

20.   The boys finish, and I realize that I have now used up 98% of my allotted getting ready time.

21.   I put the boys in their car seats.

22.   I direct Addie to get her shoes on. Inform her that socks aren’t shoes. Neither are ballet slippers. I suggest Crocs. Addie wants her actual sneakers that require me to tie them. I tell her no, because I have to get dressed. Addie is, for the fourth time this morning, displeased.

23.   I give up on blow drying my hair, and settle on a top knot. I convince myself that it looks “stylish” and “casual,” instead of “messy.”

24.   I put on half my makeup, then hear a chorus of screams from downstairs. The boys are over the car seats, Addie is railing against the injustice that is Lightening McQueen Crocs, and ScoutDog has to go out.

25.   I let the dog out.

26.   I run upstairs, forget to do the rest of my makeup, and put on whatever “I give up” outfit happens to be clean at that moment.

27.   I go downstairs, grab the diaper bag, pray it’s actually fully stocked, and start loading kids in the car.

28.   I get in the front seat, and then remember the dog is still in the yard.

29.   I run back inside, let the dog in, and then go back out to the car.

30.   Finally we leave.

31.   Only 15 minutes late.

Guys, I know other mothers manage all this insanity, and are still on time. What is the secret? Should I just start getting ready to leave the house as soon as I walk in the door from my last appointment? Do I just lock the door, and assume nobody will burn the house down in the time it takes me to get dressed? WHAT MAKES IT BETTER??