The Demon-Witch-Monster and the Late, Late, Day

I grew up in a family that was never late.  Never.  Sure, we rushed around at the last minute like everyone else, but if being on time meant diving headlong (shoeless and with unbrushed hair) into the Dodge Caravan as it backed out of the driveway, then dive headlong we did.  It was never okay to be late...and we never were.  I spent my entire childhood without once having experienced tardiness.  I was pretty certain, though, that being late would result in immediate spontaneous decapitation, fire and brimstone, and the annihilation of the human race.  Thusly, I avoided it like the plague.  The first time I was really truly late for class in college I was too terrified to go in.  I had already missed five minutes; surely entering now would end my life.  I continued this pattern of behavior throughout college...if I was going to be late, I simply wouldn't go.  Problem solved.  Still never late for anything in my life.

Then I got married and had kids.  The  Bureaucrat, it turns out, is never late for anything either, but this has more to do with the fact that he has a loose definition of "on time."  If he gets there when he intends, and hasn't missed the entire thing, people should understand that he was "on time."  After all, having a sense of urgency would totally kill that "meticulously thorough" vibe he has going.  "No," he 'll stubbornly and--irritatingly--calmly announce as I desperately try to get the family to church in time in the morning, "I'm not leaving until I drink my coffee, read this article, go to the bathroom (again), clean the kitchen, put the rest of my coffee in a to-go mug, find the right socks, and turn off this iron so the house doesn't burn down." (whatever)

The Dictator putzes around with a
spoon on her forehead.  I wish I could
say that this behavior was unusual for her.

The Dictator has inherited the Bureaucrat's utter lack of urgency.  "I'm not going to hurry, Mom," she'll announced as I try to herd her out the door in the morning, "I have to button my raincoat, check my umbrella to make sure it still works, untwist my backpack straps, adjust my tights, line up my toys in order of height, drink more water and  wash my hands first.  THEN I can hurry!" (Kill me now, kill me now, kill me now).

And of course, the Anarchist thwarts any attempts at respecting the hallowed social more of timeliness with the simple application of anarchy.  "I don't WANT to go to the four-year-old preschool!  I HATE doing the Jolly Jamboree!*  I'm going to sit on this potty FOR 100 MINUTES so I can be LATE for preschool and MISS the Jolly Jamboree!" she'll shriek from the bathroom, five minutes after we should have left and I've begun throwing random things around the house in a vain attempt to convey to my offspring how serious the situation is becoming.

Needless to say, I stand dumbfounded in the face of such blatant disregard for the importance of urgency, of being on time, of consideration for rules/regulations/the rest of humanity/my extreme neuroses regarding tardiness.

Well...not exactly dumbfounded.

See, the problem is, I may or may not turn into a shrieking demon-witch-monster when running late.  I start off patient and understanding enough.

"Okay, guys," I'll say, urgently, yet oh so patiently, "We're running a little behind, so we need to get moving and follow directions really well without whining, okay?" 

(Subtext: "Please don't turn Mommy into demon-witch-monster, please don't turn Mommy into demon-witch-monster).  

"Let's get to the bathroom and then we'll put these clothes on...no, not after Super Readers (Super Readers ends AFTER we're supposed to be there.  What's wrong with you people?)...NOW!" 

(deep breath) 

"Okay.  I'm turning off the television.  You need to put the Cheerios down.  You've had 45 minutes to eat them and now it's time to go.  Anarchist.  Put the Cheerios down.  NOW."  

(demon-witch-monster slowly surfacing...long black tongue and creepy opaque white eyes starting to form)  

"Anarchist...what did I just SAY to you?!  Put the Cheerios down." 

(grabs, violently, bowl of Cheerios and slams them on coffee table...Cheerios fly everywhere...demon-witch-monster's presence is becoming more obvious now)  

"WHY DON'T YOU LISTEN?!  Come HERE and put your pants on.  No.  DON'T dance around like a monkey!  Anarchist!  Singing the Smurf song will NOT help us to be on time!  Anarchist!  Mommy's starting to lose it!  Please!  Cooperate! "

(catches sight of Dictator putzing around in nothing but tights and a Smurf hat in front of the mirror, humming to herself)

"DICTATOR!  It.  Is.  Time.  To.  Go.  Get.  Your.  Clothes.  On.  NOW!!!!!"

(Dictator responds with, "I'm going as fast as I can!  I'm just slow.  Like Daddy.  I can't help it."  Demon-witch-monster--fully formed and out for blood--is unleashed in all her terrifying splendor)

"IT IS NEVER OKAY TO BE LA-A-A-A-A-ATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

(The sheer quantity of exclamation marks in the previous sentence does little to capture the essence of demon-witch monster's rage at the Morton family's lack of urgency.  Picture that scene in Lord of the Rings where the white witch gets all crazy with the ring, and her eyes get all creepy, and her voice gets supernaturally psychotic; now pair that with the head-spinning green vomit scene from the exorcist and any scene from any B-movie horror flick you've ever watched in your pajamas on Halloween night because you were just too lazy to get dressed up for that Halloween party, and you'll get a vague sense of the scene in my home most mornings...it's not pretty.)

To say that I'm not proud of this impatient streak in myself would be an understatement.  I die of shame every time I get the kids safely dropped off to school and watch all the patient parents who (even though they are late) smile and chat and actually let their kids put their shoes on and button their coats before getting them into the car, even at the expense of the potential destruction of the entire cosmos (yup, being late can get that serious).  Meanwhile, my kids are scarred for life, traumatized by demon-witch-monster and her undying hatred for all things putzy.

My only consolation is this:  while I've seen plenty of angelic, patient parents with their oblivious spawn pull up to school ten minutes late with not a care in the world, I've also seen my demon-witch-monster-haunted peers throw children from still-moving SUVS as tardy bells ring, heard her evil shriek surface in their exasperated "HURRY UP!"s, and known that I, and my children, are not alone.  A small remnant of children will grow up set apart from society by their fear of all things tardy, their reverence for urgency, and their ability to save the human race from utter annihilation and spontaneous decapitation one skipped college class at a time.


*The Jolly Jamboree refers to a happy little preschool song designed to help children "wake up their brains."  The Anarchist recently launched a full-scale protest/boycott of the Jolly Jamboree out of solidarity (over-identification) with a small boy who cried during the Jolly Jamboree the first week of school because he missed his mom.  The Anarchist felt his pain...and wanted to share in his drama.  Thus the Kill the Jolly Jamboree Movement was born.