(This is Kevin McCallister who was left home alone because his parents were so distracted by their children that they left one of their children behind.) |
I don't like being late. It makes me tense. And when I'm tense, I'm
not good company. Which is why, when people invite me and my kids over
for a barbecue or a get together, I get prematurely tense about the fact
that:
b) I'll turn up with my "Kevin from
Parenthood" face on and
Before I had kids, I was quite punctual
My point is, if I am late, it follows without
exception that it is my children's fault.
It's just a cause and effect
thing that can be summed up by the following mantra:
They exist therefore I am late.
(This is Kevin Descartes, who said, "I think therefore I am.") |
But if you prefer more detailed explanations for tardiness, here my top 13 reasons for always being late which can all be blamed on my children.
I'm late because ...
- When I stood at the door shouting, “It’s time to go!” no one listened to me.
- I was so busy itemising all the things that everyone else needed to remember that I forgot what I needed to remember and had to go back for my handbag.
- One of my kids had to go back inside to get something, whereupon he came back out and shut the door behind him, with the keys still inside the house. We then spent half an hour trying to break into our own home until we realised it's actually not that difficult, because someone had left the back door wide open.
- My children need to be repeatedly reminded to put shoes on and because I only reminded them four times to put shoes on, someone walked out the door without shoes on and we didn't realise it until we were halfway here and I said, "Has everyone got shoes on?"
- We left the front door wide open and had to go back to shut it.
- We thought we'd left the front door wide open and had to go back to see that we had actually, for once remembered to shut it.
- As we were leaving, the next door neighbour alerted us to the fact that our guinea pig was cowering beneath their car. We had to spend half an hour pretending that we cared, unsuccessfully trying to lure it out by alternately throwing bits of food at it and prodding it with a plastic golf club. Eventually we gave up and as far as we know, Patches is still quivering beneath the neighbour's car.
- Someone shut their finger in the car door and so I had to spend some time pretending that I cared about that.
- My son wouldn't move his foot so I shut the car door on it and then he cried and I had to spend some time pretending that I was sorry.
- Somebody wet their pants (not me) and so we had to find him another pair of jeans, which was when I realised that he has grown too tall for all of his long pants: hence, therefore, ergo he has come as Dr Knickerbocker.
- We couldn’t find (insert youngest child's name here.) We spent 15 minutes calling out, searching every room and looking under every bed for him until we realised that he was out the front waiting patiently to be let into the car.
- We had to find someone’s left shoe/blankie/Lego fire engine/origami frog that someone made you as a gift/rock collection because suddenly just as we were walking out the door it was absolutely essential that we bring it.
- We drove off with someone's left shoe/blankie/Lego fire engine/origami frog that someone made you as a gift/rock collection/my handbag on the roof of the car and had to retrace our steps until we found it somewhere on the road between home and your place.
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