Let me share my reasoning behind this decision.
It’s not due to spending excessive time on makeup (seriously, just two minutes), drying my hair (never happens), or preparing dinner in the slow cooker. And folding laundry? Not my excuse this time.
I’m late again this morning because I simply couldn’t tear myself away from my daughter and our imaginative performance on the living room floor. We were deep into a scene where Gramps (our dog, dressed up in a gown and heels) was leading a group of cranky princesses, Zurg from Toy Story, a handful of lively fairies, and the infamous Momsie with her beloved Little People on a whimsical journey to our freshly built zoo—now undergoing renovations for an animal shelter wing and a towering residence for princesses and their wicked stepmothers.
I’m late because I indulged in making homemade chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast again. I’m late because I wanted to honor her excitement in putting on her princess dress, tiara, and shoes without rushing her to change moments later after a joyful twirl and a gentle bop on my head with her wand.
Childhood is fleeting, and I’m acutely aware of this fact. As a highly sensitive and emotional person, I find myself obsessing over how quickly my children are growing. The pencil marks on the pantry door remind me of their growth, steadily inching higher with each passing month. Each of these moments is unique and ephemeral, and while some may seem mundane, I recognize that I can’t predict which ones will be the last.
So, I choose to savor every single moment, living in the present without the constraints of time. I know this might sound absurd coming from a working mother who should be sitting at her desk and ready to tackle the day by 9 a.m. But I’m exhausted from the constant rush.
I want my children to enjoy their mornings, sprawled out on the living room carpet, fully immersed in their imaginative play. When my daughter asks if she can paint or use glitter glue at 7:30 a.m. (with messy hair and dirty teeth), I want to say yes. Yes to building volcanoes that erupt glitter, yes to cupcakes with purple frosting, yes to creating fairy gardens—yes to dancing in pajamas to Johnny Cash!
Yet, too often I feel like a “Mom of No,” a “Mom Who Rushes.” This version of myself clashes with my true nature (laid-back and creative). I mean, can you really be a Type A free spirit? It’s exhausting to say no repeatedly, often resorting to desperate measures to get my daughter to brush her teeth. “You don’t want cavities, do you?” seems harsh, but it does the trick in a pinch.
This is when my Type A side takes over, and my fun-loving spirit gets shelved. I feel like a frantic tour guide, ushering my kids through the morning routine: potty, hair, clothes, socks, sneakers, coats, and finally to the car. Check, check, check, and yet, I still find myself late.
I’m tired of my mornings resembling an endless circus act, where I’m juggling checklists before we can dash out the door with all our bags—snacks, lunchboxes, water bottles, and the ever-elusive keys. I can’t even begin to explain the state of my car; let’s just say there are remnants of snacks that have been there for days.
It’s disheartening how often I feel the need to speed to drop off my kids at preschool, only to arrive late to work. I can’t stand the frantic energy that comes from waiting until the last minute to get everyone ready. Dinnertime is another chaotic race, filled with meal prep, baths, and bedtime rituals that feel never-ending. I long for the days when I could relax while chopping vegetables, sipping wine, and gazing out the window.
I’m not proud to admit that sometimes I leave the last bit of toilet paper without replacing it, but hey, at least there are tissues nearby, right? I often feel like I’m just scraping by, giving my kids the “leftovers” of my energy.
I want more for my children than this rushed chaos. I crave the ability to be fully present, to be a stay-at-home mom who doesn’t feel the constant need to rush from one obligation to another. I want time to appreciate every moment with them, like gazing at my four-month-old son without worrying about the clock.
For now, I will continue to be excusably late. I’m just a working mom trying to love my kids as fiercely as I can with the time I have.
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Summary
Letting go of guilt about being late allows me to fully embrace the fleeting moments of my children’s childhood, despite the chaotic mornings and endless to-do lists. I choose to prioritize experiences over strict schedules, reminding myself that each moment is precious.
Keyphrase: Letting go of guilt about being late
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