My Continuing Battle with CLS
I think I am doing better and then, WHAM! I seem to be right back where I started. I keep wondering when some money grubbing pharmaceutical company is going to recognise the amazing potential of Chronic Lateness Syndrome. I can just imagine the demand for a drug that with only minimal side effects (i.e. Zcerebral haemorrhaging, possible loss of vision, and in certain patients instant death) can help you overcome your lateness. Just pop one pill each day at bedtime, and voila your life will be transformed. No more struggling to get out the door on time. You would be able to foresee every possible detaining situation and handle it in stride.
Take this morning for example. I got up an hour and a half before we needed to leave the house. I multitasked by oil swishing and exercising simultaneously, while also boiling the water for oatmeal as the coffee brewed. Baby Allen mimicked me from the pack-and-play as I stretched and swayed in time to the music of PBS's Classical Stretch with Miranda Esmond-White. I was interrupted (more then once) by bickering and whining children, but I persevered. I made Issy's lunch while the oatmeal cooked. She is my kindergartener, and although she loves school, she detests school lunch. Everyone was eating breakfast 15 minutes prior to departure. I was feeling good. It is at these moments of greatest confidence that my disorder rears it's ugly head.
"Everybody, down to the car!" I called out as I went to pick up Allen from his pack-and-play. His diaper seemed squishy but I thought it was just wet. We made it to the car and Lydia, Issy and Reagan all hopped in. I stuck the key in the ignition. One quick turn and the car was running, the kids were bucking in and I was placing Allen in his car seat. Then it struck. Allen had a poopy diaper and this one couldn't wait. I had my diaper bag with me so I just placed him on the front seat. My oldest, Maddy wasn't downstairs yet anyway, so I could change his diaper while we waited for her to join us. But wait! There were no baby wipes in my diaper bag. Diapers but no wipes. Wasn't there a container of wet wipes in the car somewhere? "Everyone, look around for the wipes! I know there was a little soda can looking container of wipes somewhere in this car. Does anyone see it?" I called out as I held Allen's feet in an attempt at keeping him from smooshing poop all over my leather car seat. While I craned my neck to look for the wipes he somehow managed to get his heels in it.
AAAHHH! The clock was ticking and there were no wipes in sight. Seeing as no one was having any luck and I was on the verge of becoming a baby wipe myself, I made a drastic choice; spot shower. I ran into my mom's downstairs apartment and with her corded shower head rinsed off the baby's bum, legs, feet and boy parts. Not the most hygienic of procedures, but better then having him sit in poop for the twenty minutes to and from school.
I was nervous as all heck about the running car however, but had been too frazzled to just turn it off before running inside. Allen was crying of course, seeing as I hadn't waited for the water to warm up. A cold shower on your warm bum is a cruel wake up call.
Thankfully the car was still there when I returned a record 2 minutes later, but for some reason Isabella was yelling at Reagan her3 year-old brother and probably waking up all the retired people who moved here from up north so they could relax. Well, once I had Allen's diaper on, had him buckled into his car seat and made sure everyone else's was securely fastened, we were late. Not terribly late, but that annoying late that is only like 1.5 minutes, but the kids still need a note to be have it be an excused tardy, instead of an unexcused tardy. So I take the time to write a note which then makes them like, 5 minutes late because I have to find a piece of paper and a writing utensil that is not damaged beyond use, and have time to compose something coherent for the office staff's amusement. Today I wrote simply "The baby had a poopy diaper." I spared them all the boring details that I am not sparing you.
So, if I had had some of that amazing drug that I just know some pharmaceutical company will soon be marketing on WETV, I would have thought to check the baby's diaper 5 minutes before it was time to leave, and I would have thought to check my diaper bag for wipes yesterday. Then we would have been on time.
Until then, at least Allen doesn't have diaper rash.
CLS (Chronic Lateness Syndrome)
I know there are lots of real disorders out there and I shouldn't complain, but I feel this one is getting short shrift. I know because I am a victim of CLS. Before you judge me as a hypochondriac, read this list of symptoms.
1. An inability to leave the house without forgetting at least one item and needing to run back inside to retrieve it.
2. A sudden feeling of panic as you look at your watch and realize that it is time to go and you are still wearing your pajamas.
3. A propensity to lose tract of time while preparing to depart.
4. An inability to accurately predict how long it will take to get ready.
5. The drive to do "just one more thing" before dressing.
6. Being the parent of one or more children who have a tendency to play with your car keys and then promptly forget where they left them.
Yes, I know I made this list up, but someone has to start quantifying this serious disability. All my life people have been putting the blame on me and I am tired of it. Look, I am doing my best! Being on time is just harder for some people then it is for others and I refuse to be stigmatised because of my disability any longer. Maybe I shouldn't say "disability" but "differently-abled" because I am really good at being late. There are very few people I know who are as consistently late as I am. Sometimes I am at least five minutes late to every place I need to be for an entire week. Who else can claim a tract record like thbat?
One time I was so late picking up my girls from school that they had to be put in the aftercare program at school until I got there. My son had taken my keys off the key hook in the kitchen and had hid them amongst his toy tools. I asked him repeatedly where they were and he kept telling me they were in his tool bench. They were with his tools, but not in the bench. See? I couldn't help it. It was all part of my disorder.
My lateness was considered a serious moral failing by my maternal grandfather. In other words, it used to drive him crazy. He insisted that I needed to get up earlier in the morning in order to be on time. I insisted that no matter how early I got up, I would fritter away the time and still be running around at the last minute looking like a chicken with my head cut off.
Now I know what you are thinking, "Just get up and get ready to go before you do anything else. Then you won't be late." That sounds like it would work, but it doesn't. That is why it is a disorder. All the suggestions people have made over the years just haven't helped. I still feel compelled to unload the dishwasher or change the laundry loads when I should really be walking out the door. I cant help it. It's CLS.
So next time I arrive at your party 30 minutes late or you see me dropping my kiddos off for school as the late bell rings, please don't judge me. You see I can't be on time. I have CLS.
I will never cut my hair again
It all seemed so simple, so uncomplicated. All I needed to do was pick up the kids from school, come home for a snack and then hop back in the car for the drive to my mother's place of work. There she would watch the kiddos while I walked to the nearby strip mall to get my hair cut. In an hour we would be on our way back home, in time for dinner and homework.
Things had a bad start however. You see I made a list. Now I didn't expect to get it all done in one day but I thought I should tackle a few items at least. At the top of my list was taking the cat to the vet for his leukemia shot. My mom had recently adopted Simba who appears healthy but carries feline leukemia. I had attempted to schedule this visit twice already but both times the vet had reasons why I needed to call back later. So yesterday morning just after 9am I called to schedule his treatment.
"Would 12:45 today work?"
"Yes it would and thank you very much."
I spent half the morning attempting to get my three-year-old son Reagan to take an early nap since I was going to be getting my haircut during his nap-time. All to no avail however. I found myself falling asleep while he folded and unfolded his hands, rubbed his eyes, and scratched at his mosquito bitten ankles.
Despite the failed attempt at napping, the cat made it to the animal hospital relatively on time. We waited for a while before I asked if i could just drop Simba off while I ran some errands. The vet tech assured me that I would be called when the cat was ready to be picked up.
"This way I can get some more items on my list crossed off" I mused to myself. "Finally, bagels from Panera." Tuesdays the bakers dozen of bagels are $6.99 and I cant resist a deal. Bagels in hand we waited at Panera for the call that never came.
"What could be taking them so long? I thought he just had to get a shot?" I wondered out loud, but YIKES! I needed to get the girls from school. I was half an hour away from school but it dismissed in 23 minutes. Time to drive.
Once we were back home for after school snacks I called the vet's office. No the cat wasn't ready for pick up and no the person answering the phone had no idea why. Yes, they would call me when the cat was ready.
Hummmm...
I confidently moved ahead with the plan and after finagling the stroller into the front seat of my Volvo station wagon and buckling it in (you can never be too safe) we set off to tackle another item or two on my list. I stopped at the kayak store and then at the bike shop. Unfortunately the information received at both stops required that I two more items to my list. Bummer.
We got to my mom's work in plenty of time. The children seemed to have gathered immense energy from the car ride however and were buzzing around me like a hive of worker bees, only louder. We decided a walk would do them good so my mother accompanied us over to the hair salon. Unfortunatly for my mother she was dressed for the chilly air-conditioned environment of her office cubicle, not the dripping hot mugginess of the rainy season in southwest Florida. The children were undaunted but both of us were feeling the heat.
I spent a pleasant and cool fifty minutes in the salon. My mom on the other hand spent that time strolling in and out of storefronts of the strip mall trying to stay out of the alternating oppressively damp air and thundering downpours.
Five children, especially when one is a three-year-old who hasn't taken a nap, is a lot to handle. My children I must say, are especially exhausting; beautiful, wonderful, full of vitality and completely exhausting.
So it was with drawn lips and sagging posture that my mother walked toward me outside the salon. Beads of sweat were forming on her cheeks and I could only imagine how hot she felt inside her black suit jacket and matching pants. My three middle children spotted me and with outstretched arms ran at me while laughing wildly and yelling "Mommy." To avoid being knocked over by them I quickly retreated to a nearby bench. My oldest daughter who in nine, was reading a book, her eyes cast down, book pressed into her belly, oblivious to everything around her, including me. Thankfully Allen was buckled into his stroller but when he saw me he added his insistent cries to the overwhelming din. It was so hot and they were all hanging on me so I quickly put my damp, recently styled hair up in a bun with my hair clip.
I still needed to get the darn cat however, and the vet office hadn't called me. My mom called as we walked back to my car and they verified that the cat was ready but gave us no explanation as to why this shot had turned into an all day affair.
When we got to the animal hospital I swarmed the place with all five of my children. As I walked up to the counter, they spread out, getting themselves cups of water, sneaking sugar packs, looking for the bathroom, asking questions about the lighting fixtures, and waving to a not so friendly looking dog and his owner.
"I'll go see if Simba is ready" the vet tech replied. "What!" I cried inwardly "They close in fifteen minutes. They knew I was coming. Where is my cat?"
I appears there was some confusion as to his medical records. They had been unable to clear it up with the adoption agency but thankfully they had given him a shot and I was finally able to take him home.
Those last ten minutes in the waiting room did me in though. Rustling five wound up children in a room containing a water cooler, coffee creamer and multi colored sugar packets is apparently just too much for me.
By the time we got home I had no patience left and bedtime promptly ensued.
I couldn't figure out how this simple series of events had turned into an endurance contest.
I took my hair out of the bun once they were all in bed too take a look at the new beautiful me. The image in the mirror appeared unchanged from the one that greeted me before the haircut. All the styling had been destroyed and the curling effect of the stylish cut obscured by the smoosshing effect of my hairclip comined with 100% humidity. A bunch of damp limp hair hung around my face. All that hassle for this! I am never getting my hair cut again.
LS (Chronic Lateness Syndrome)
I know there are lots of real disorders out there and I shouldn't complain, but I feel this one is getting short shrift. I know because I am a victim of CLS. Before you judge me as a hypochondriac, read this list of symptoms.1. An inability to leave the house without forgetting at least one item and needing to run back inside to retrieve it.
2. A sudden feeling of panic as you look at your watch and realize that it is time to go and you are still wearing your pajamas.
3. A propensity to lose tract of time while preparing to depart.
4. An inability to accurately predict how long it will take to get ready.
5. The drive to do "just one more thing" before dressing.
6. Being the parent of one or more children who have a tendency to play with your car keys and then promptly forget where they left them.
Yes, I know I made this list up, but someone has to start quantifying this serious disability. All my life people have been putting the blame on me and I am tired of it. Look, I am doing my best! Being on time is just harder for some people then it is for others and I refuse to be stigmatised because of my disability any longer. Maybe I shouldn't say "disability" but "differently-abled" because I am really good at being late. There are very few people I know who are as consistently late as I am. Sometimes I am at least five minutes late to every place I need to be for an entire week. Who else can claim a tract record like that?
One time I was so late picking up my girls from school that they had to be put in the aftercare program at school until I got there. My son had taken my keys off the key hook in the kitchen and had hid them amongst his toy tools. I asked him repeatedly where they were and he kept telling me they were in his tool bench. They were with his tools, but not in the bench. See? I couldn't help it. It was all part of my disorder.
My lateness was considered a serious moral failing by my maternal grandfather. In other words, it used to drive him crazy. He insisted that I needed to get up earlier in the morning in order to be on time. I insisted that no matter how early I got up, I would fritter away the time and still be running around at the last minute looking like a chicken with my head cut off.
Now I know what you are thinking, "Just get up and get ready to go before you do anything else. Then you won't be late." That sounds like it would work, but it doesn't. That is why it is a disorder. All the suggestions people have made over the years just haven't helped. I still feel compelled to unload the dishwasher or change the laundry loads when I should really be walking out the door. I cant help it. It's CLS.
So next time I arrive at your party 30 minutes late or you see me dropping my kiddos off for school as the late bell rings, please don't judge me. You see I can't be on time. I have CLS.
I will never cut my hair again
It all seemed so simple, so uncomplicated. All I needed to do was pick up the kids from school, come home for a snack and then hop back in the car for the drive to my mother's place of work. There she would watch the kiddos while I walked to the nearby strip mall to get my hair cut. In an hour we would be on our way back home, in time for dinner and homework.
Things had a bad start however. You see I made a list. Now I didn't expect to get it all done in one day but I thought I should tackle a few items at least. At the top of my list was taking the cat to the vet for his leukemia shot. My mom had recently adopted Simba who appears healthy but carries feline leukemia. I had attempted to schedule this visit twice already but both times the vet had reasons why I needed to call back later. So yesterday morning just after 9am I called to schedule his treatment.
"Would 12:45 today work?"
"Yes it would and thank you very much."
I spent half the morning attempting to get my three-year-old son Reagan to take an early nap since I was going to be getting my haircut during his nap-time. All to no avail however. I found myself falling asleep while he folded and unfolded his hands, rubbed his eyes, and scratched at his mosquito bitten ankles.
Despite the failed attempt at napping, the cat made it to the animal hospital relatively on time. We waited for a while before I asked if i could just drop Simba off while I ran some errands. The vet tech assured me that I would be called when the cat was ready to be picked up.
"This way I can get some more items on my list crossed off" I mused to myself. "Finally, bagels from Panera." Tuesdays the bakers dozen of bagels are $6.99 and I cant resist a deal. Bagels in hand we waited at Panera for the call that never came.
"What could be taking them so long? I thought he just had to get a shot?" I wondered out loud, but YIKES! I needed to get the girls from school. I was half an hour away from school but it dismissed in 23 minutes. Time to drive.
Once we were back home for after school snacks I called the vet's office. No the cat wasn't ready for pick up and no the person answering the phone had no idea why. Yes, they would call me when the cat was ready.
Hummmm...
I confidently moved ahead with the plan and after finagling the stroller into the front seat of my Volvo station wagon and buckling it in (you can never be too safe) we set off to tackle another item or two on my list. I stopped at the kayak store and then at the bike shop. Unfortunately the information received at both stops required that I two more items to my list. Bummer.
We got to my mom's work in plenty of time. The children seemed to have gathered immense energy from the car ride however and were buzzing around me like a hive of worker bees, only louder. We decided a walk would do them good so my mother accompanied us over to the hair salon. Unfortunatly for my mother she was dressed for the chilly air-conditioned environment of her office cubicle, not the dripping hot mugginess of the rainy season in southwest Florida. The children were undaunted but both of us were feeling the heat.
I spent a pleasant and cool fifty minutes in the salon. My mom on the other hand spent that time strolling in and out of storefronts of the strip mall trying to stay out of the alternating oppressively damp air and thundering downpours.
Five children, especially when one is a three-year-old who hasn't taken a nap, is a lot to handle. My children I must say, are especially exhausting; beautiful, wonderful, full of vitality and completely exhausting.
So it was with drawn lips and sagging posture that my mother walked toward me outside the salon. Beads of sweat were forming on her cheeks and I could only imagine how hot she felt inside her black suit jacket and matching pants. My three middle children spotted me and with outstretched arms ran at me while laughing wildly and yelling "Mommy." To avoid being knocked over by them I quickly retreated to a nearby bench. My oldest daughter who in nine, was reading a book, her eyes cast down, book pressed into her belly, oblivious to everything around her, including me. Thankfully Allen was buckled into his stroller but when he saw me he added his insistent cries to the overwhelming din. It was so hot and they were all hanging on me so I quickly put my damp, recently styled hair up in a bun with my hair clip.
I still needed to get the darn cat however, and the vet office hadn't called me. My mom called as we walked back to my car and they verified that the cat was ready but gave us no explanation as to why this shot had turned into an all day affair.
When we got to the animal hospital I swarmed the place with all five of my children. As I walked up to the counter, they spread out, getting themselves cups of water, sneaking sugar packs, looking for the bathroom, asking questions about the lighting fixtures, and waving to a not so friendly looking dog and his owner.
"I'll go see if Simba is ready" the vet tech replied. "What!" I cried inwardly "They close in fifteen minutes. They knew I was coming. Where is my cat?"
I appears there was some confusion as to his medical records. They had been unable to clear it up with the adoption agency but thankfully they had given him a shot and I was finally able to take him home.
Those last ten minutes in the waiting room did me in though. Rustling five wound up children in a room containing a water cooler, coffee creamer and multi colored sugar packets is apparently just too much for me.
By the time we got home I had no patience left and bedtime promptly ensued.
I couldn't figure out how this simple series of events had turned into an endurance contest.
I took my hair out of the bun once they were all in bed too take a look at the new beautiful me. The image in the mirror appeared unchanged from the one that greeted me before the haircut. All the styling had been destroyed and the curling effect of the stylish cut obscured by the smoosshing effect of my hairclip comined with 100% humidity. A bunch of damp limp hair hung around my face. All that hassle for this! I am never getting my hair cut again.
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