That’s what time the oven glared at me, red and accusing this morning when I ran back in the house for my coffee, my keys, the phone book.
We had one of those mornings. And I needed a number to double check directions to an appointment and I needed to call while I was driving them to school so I could make sure I was where I was supposed to be on time and time had gotten away from us and now my kids were late to school.
I know it’s not a big deal. It’s a little thing. A mistake. A blip on the parenting radar that would be forgotten but the looks on their faces when I jumped in yelling, “Buckle up! You’re late!”, were so hurt.
Late? They’d have to sign in at the office, right? Isn’t that what you have to do? And I would have to wrestle Amelia back into her carseat because I couldn’t very well leave her in the minivan while I ran in to sign the paper that condemned my kids to a tardy notice on their report cards.
“Mommy, how can we be late?” Madelynne asked all quiet from the backseat.
They’ve inherited perfectionism from their mother. But anti-lateness? That came from their father.
We whipped in the turn lane with me silently thankful that we are in the school only two miles from the house. We cruised down the drive and….stopped. In a line of cars too backed up for 7:59.
It’s Krispy Kreme fundraiser morning and as they stumbled out the automatic doors, the sweetest elementary counselor waved me on.
“No one’s late today! We got behind.”
Small graces. And a $5 package of doughnuts.
Thank you, Lord. I just needed that small reminder.