Here's to being late.

We are a family who is nearly always late. No matter what the scenario... from a wedding to a funeral to school to work to dinner to shopping... something inevitably happens when we are trying to get out of the door and into the car that delays our forward motion. A football coach would hate us for this. We would get so many delay of game penalties that we would make the Gamecocks look good. (This is in no way a slight to my beloved Gamecocks.) Every morning when Matt and Ella are heading out the door for school, someone forgets a bookbag or a shoe or a wallet or breakfast.When we leave to go on trips, we load ourselves into the car at least 5 times. The front door is locked and unlocked and locked again repeatedly. You could tell me that we just need to get up and get going earlier. You could tell me that we need to be more efficient with our time. You could tell me that we need to be more prepared. You may be correct in all of these regards, but, I promise you that there have many been times when we've been up early, efficient, and prepared, and still we were late.

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for work, I found myself sitting on the toilet and brushing my teeth at the same time. Hey. Judge me if you must, but at least I wasn't going number 2. As usual, I was running out of time to get ready. I can't help it; being late is something that seems to be ingrained into my DNA. I can't escape it. I would venture to guess that it's genetic. I have several fond memories of going to church on Sunday mornings when my family was the very last to arrive. And by arrive, I mean bustling in a good 10 minutes after the service had started. If anyone knows Southern Baptist churches, they know that the only rows open for 5 people to sit together 10 minutes after church starts are at the front of the congregation. (Let's be honest... the preacher can't see you doodling and playing tic tac toe through his rantings of hellfire and damnation way at the back. Hopefully, God can't either.)For these churches, the early bird gets the back row.  So, there would we be... the band of late, merry Satterfields with Kent and John Wesley punching each other and me adjusting the quickly thrown on tights out of the seat of my drawers, being ushered down the center aisle to the front by my nervous, red-faced mother and my dad, who was just happy that we made it to church at all. It sucked for us kids, because that meant we had to act like we were actually listening to what the preacher was saying (or pontificating or guilt-tripping... what's the difference with Southern Baptist preachers anyway?).

And I've never been one for early rising. Morning awakenings and me are like oil and water. I'd much rather stay up until the morning comes than to get up in the middle of it. When I was in high school, my mom would come into my room, open up the shades, and sing, "Rise and shine, doodlebug." Ugggg. Just typing that makes me cringe. I would beg, plead, sell my soul for her to just shut the freaking blinds and go away. There were days where I would sleep in my clothes so that all I had to do was brush my teeth and wash my face before getting in the car to go to school.

Now, I find my Ella following in my same footsteps. Girlfriend does NOT like to wake up in the morning. She has always been a late sleeper; at 8 weeks of age she would sleep from 11 at night until 9 in the morning. (People with kids know that this is pretty damn good for a little baby to do.) If she had her way now, her sleep patterns would be the same, so waking up at 6.30 am for school is definitely not her cup of tea. She drags herself out of bed and sits on the toilet for a good 5 minutes (not doing anything, just staring blankly into the dark morning). Then she dresses herself in the outfit I laid for her the night before and s.l.o.w.l.y. makes her way to the kitchen table for breakfast where she s.l.o.w.l.y. eats her food. And she's not super nice at this time, either. She often yells at her brother to stop stealing her vitamins (he's a weird one) or snaps at me when I tell her to hurry up. By this time, her daddy is ready, and she still hasn't brushed her teeth or hair or gotten her socks and shoes on or her bookbag or anything. Eventually, she does make it, but I would bet a million bucks that they are never early to school.

No, people, we aren't an early bunch. We aren't the early birds getting the first worm. The meaning of this old English proverb is that good preparation and effort bring success. And in all my years (24, right? ha!) I've never really had a problem with it. I've caught plenty of metaphorical worms (get your minds out of the gutters, people) and gotten along alright. We've been prepared and put in lots of effort and found success in our own time. So, here's to being late. May we all sleep well.