As a mom who's always battled punctuality, getting myself and my two boys to school on time feels like an Olympic event. I've been a 'girly girl' since high school—staring in the mirror until I'm satisfied can derail the best plans. Add in my chronic lateness, and school drop-offs become a high-stakes race. I can count on one hand the times I've nailed it for school, birthdays, or appointments.
With school back in session, yesterday's smooth first day was a fluke. Today, the chaos resumed full force.
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Alarm blares—snooze. It rings again, sparking an internal battle. My inner coach screams to get up, but the sleepy voice whispers to savor the quiet while the kids sleep. 'Punctuality matters!' I tell myself. Yet, I lose and drift off.
SHIT! I jolt awake, picturing the eldest's new teacher—super nice but by-the-book. Day 2, no leniency past the second bell.
It's go-time, Olympics-fueled sprint mode à la Daphne Schippers on the 200m. Sandwiches flying, mind wandering: I aspire to Usain Bolt's cool sprint-and-smile vibe (no shade to Schippers—she's a beast!). Snap back: dress, teeth, hair, breakfast, bags, shoes, out!
Now in group 3, prep is key. Evenings, I lay out the boys' clothes—easy with boys, no debates. But my own outfit? Zero plan, netting 3 minutes saved, 5 lost. Breakfast multitasking (parenting no-no): kids eat while I do makeup. Empty stomach over bare face, every time.
Clock check: 8:15! Visions of teacher's glare and on-time moms chatting. Not today!
Breakfast done, hasty hairstyling. Mine's easy; boys' cuts with wax and gel? Tricky when they won't stay still. I'm no pro stylist like Leco.
8:20—washed, dressed, fed, bagged. Keys missing. Key box ignored again. Chaos ensues; found with dog leashes.
8:26—bikes rolling. Valentine loves his big-boy bike and pedaling to victory!
Two minutes later, school. Teacher eyes a teary goodbye nearby—my gain!
We sidestep, I kiss Valentine, he strides in confidently: good morning, handshake. Teamwork! He shows his chaotic mom's raising him right. Teacher smiles meaningfully—maybe this year won't be so strict?
Tip: More relatable morning madness below:
