On your mark....Get set....STOP and wait for an hour.

Summer is the time for relaxing....for catching up on your DVR....for afternoon backyard BBQ's. I guess we didn't get the message.

Now to be forthright, I do this to myself.  I'm not good with having "spare time," and as soon as I sit down, the Catholic guilt rears its head and tells me to get up and do a, b, or c.

In addition to that, I have a problem.  Well, lots of problems, but that's for another day.  I have a problem with time.  Or, more specifically, being ON time.  Sydney and Dylan call it "Mommy time." My students call it "C-time." My husband calls it obsessive-complusive.  My idea is this...if you're on time...you're late.  If you are at your destination and ready to participate at the start time, you're on time. If you're ten-minutes early....perfect.

This makes being "fashionably late" to any sort of party very troublesome.

It is this "quality" of mine that also leads to extreme road rage.  I normally need to be somewhere NOW, and why can't these other drivers understand???

Well, this week is a true test.  After the 6- pre-8:30am walks that it took for everyone to properly poop (the dogs, that is) we rushed across town to Girl Scout Camp.  Upon arrival, I realized that I forgot Syd's permission slip.  This combined with the fact that is was 9am and therefore late in my book, Dylan promptly steps in something brown and sticky, forcing me to lock the wee one in the car while I signed Sydney in for the day.

Then, we race to school where I needed to be today, only to find out that since the fire alarms are being fixed, no students are allowed in my room.  In case they look at the kid funny?  So....schlep ALL of my books (100's) into the band room where I sit for four hours.  I don't like sitting.

Then, we RACE to Girl Scout camp, find Sydney and jet to the car.  Both kids are now busting the Houdini acts by changing into swim attire in the car.

We get to swim 5 minutes early, which has freaked me out because there is still swim-capping that must happen, sunscreening, and "accessory" organizing.  Then I sit for an hour.  I don't like sitting.

Then, we RUN home, I throw food at the kids, make them change, walk the dogs, then RUN to drop Syd at rehearsal.  Come home (stopping for milk on the way) and sit for 45 minutes.  I don't like sitting.

Go back to rehearsal, only to find them not done, and find a way to entertain Dylan in the car for an additional 1/2 hour.

Get my drift?  I run like a crazed bi-polar freak, then slam to a stop where I contemplate my blood pressure.

I think I need a valium.