Every New Years, and about four other times throughout the year, I vow to be more organized. I’ll make a dent in the piles of papers on my desk and file documents in what was once intended to be color coded folders. This lasts about a week.
I’m also a bit of a commitment-phobe. I don’t even have a steady schedule with my babysitters. My husband swears it will make my life easier, but I struggle to bring myself to do it. I had a therapist once force me to commit to a time slot with the understanding that I could change it with 24 hours notice. Surprisingly, I kept most of our sessions. Had he been a better therapist than a) I might still be seeing him and 2) he would have addressed my issues with creating and adhering to a schedule.
Now that my daughter is at pre-school, I’m forced to drop her off and pick her up promptly. The second week I was confused about the pick up time, so, oops, one late day. The following two weeks I anticipated my son waking up in time for us to rush 13 minutes to the school. This plan backfired at least twice leading to one phone call and one scolding by the head of school.
Today my husband was on duty and at ten minutes late he was the recipient of the harsh reprimand. The Director called me fifteen minutes later to ensure equal delivery of the same message.
Empirically I know it is not fair to the teachers. I do. It’s not as if I am late intentionally. I remember my father constantly picking me up late from school, birthday parties, playdates, you name it.
My friend (a non-mom) says from the tough love: there is NOTHING more important than picking up lily on time. NOTHING. (geez, it’s not like I’m leaving her at school to fend for herself on the way home. And I make sure she has health care, so that has to garner me some points) It’s not like I am bringing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to their no-nut zone school.
Wimpy love: they sound like uptight assholes who should have bigger concerns than a late parent.