I woke up the other morning just like almost every other morning of my life – late. I had to be out the door in an hour with all 4 kids, dressed, fed, and ready to go.
After spending way too much time making breakfast, I had about 15 minutes left to shoo the kids around the house into shoes and out the door. After 30 minutes everyone was buckled in the car while I sprinted around the house packing snacks, diapers, water, teething gel, wallet, and trying not to forget my phone.
I wish I could blame my lateness on kids…4 of them…but that just wouldn’t be fair.
I’ve been late since I can remember. I scarfed down breakfast on the way to 5th grade, walked in late to 80% of my high school career, and barely skated into college classes on time.
And every time I’m late I feel great anxiety. You’d think after a lifetime of tardiness I’d be numb to feeling guilty and worried about being late. Continue reading