Today I received a call from my brother. I was right in the middle of my typically late started, but extremely eventful and important morning. At the time of his call specifically I was watching Bubble Guppies, sporadically breast feeding a rambling toddler, and finishing off my lukewarm coffee. (That last bit is actually a travesty but commonplace for me. After all I was much too engrossed in the current song and dance number of our cartoon to make my way to the microwave for a java nuke.)
Thankfully it was a rerun so I was able to tear myself away long enough to speak to my little bro. He was off work and suggested a visit. I was pleased and excited to see him. The added bonus that he’d be coming to my house was even better. But then he said it.
“I’ll be over in a little bit, probably around twelve.”
“Okay.” I answered happily, but I could feel my pulse accelerating, and my heart clinching with trepidation. It was already 10:30 am. I looked at the clock in awe. It didn’t escape me that twelve, his ETA, was frighteningly close to the hour at hand.
I looked down at my disheveled, pajama appearance. I saw the girls jumping on sofa cushions in their own pj’s. They hadn’t eaten yet because I hadn’t fixed it yet. Breakfast, albeit a late one, only comes after a minimum one cup of coffee has been consumed by me the chef.
I wanted a shower. My own tummy grumbled. I wanted to start laundry. Maybe I might even pick up the pieces of discarded macaroni and cheese from the night before that still littered the kitchen floor, but I knew better than to push myself. I looked again at the evil clock and silently sighed.
It wasn’t that I thought my brother would care about pajamas, dirty kids, or even sitting through our breakfast, but I minded. I wanted to have my morning routine completed before we visited.
As I drew some bath water I looked again at the time. Then I relaxed. It occurred to me at that moment that I had nothing to worry about. You see my brother had unknowingly submitted himself to my time clock. Similar to the Twilight Zone he had entered a place where rules of time and logic were no longer applicable.
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call … The Twilight Zone.
-Rod Sterling
Similar to the Bermuda Triangle there is a place where parents disappear. They will have a coarse set and will be sure of the destination, but then something happens. They become lost in the chaotic actions of their children. In this place of uncertain outcomes time stands still. Well, it stands still for you, but not so much the rest of the world.
The people without children and especially those without young children move along contentedly in their day. They make a decision to themselves or a commitment to another and then they follow through. It’s really that easy. I’ve almost forgotten.
Sure sometimes they encounter inconveniences such as a flat tire or a train, but most of the time they decide to be somewhere at a certain time, and bam, they’re there.
Not so much with the parent of small children. The intention is there, but the follow through is where it falls apart.
You decide Saturday night, We will be on time for church tomorrow! You’re filled with excitement over the thought. You begin to anticipate the next day with all these beautiful things you call plans. Plans are precious little items you used to make before you had children. You remember them fondly and the feeling of freedom that accompanied such things. You smile at your plans to arrive fifteen minutes before the service starts, to make it there before the prayer request portion, and even before the collection plates are passed. (You wince a little over how long it’s been since you tithed).
You lay out clothes the night before. You set your alarm early. You even prep the coffee maker to be ready for the big day. The first Sunday since the delivery room that you’ve been early! You fall asleep feeling very proud of yourself.
Somewhere in the middle of the night it seems like your little world begins conspiring against you. The baby wakes up numerous times. The three year old has a bad dream. The interrupted sleep makes you hit the snooze button one too many times. You trudge to the coffee maker and realize you set the timer wrong. Cold coffee sits in the carafe waiting to be drained.
Panty hose have unexpected holes. Shoes go missing. Hair bows too. Everyone has to poop, even you. You’d normally be ecstatic over this, but not today.
Your spouse seems to have become oblivious of the strange word time, and you pray silently for patience when you realize the children are following suit.
Breakfast gets dropped on clean dresses. The coats have disappeared! The gas tank miraculously went empty overnight and you don’t even think it will make it on the remaining fumes.
Don’t forget that the outfit you set out for yourself will suddenly not fit right at all, and you’ll push back unexpected tears as you grab your old reliable outfit from the laundry basket. It smells okay, right? Is that food or boogers on the sleeve? Do I really want to know?
When you arrive in the parking lot at your usual time of fifteen minutes late you sit in momentary silence as you put the vehicle in park. How did this happen?!
Then you know. You remember the vacuum of space and time that exists in the center of your life, this crazy place where time ceases to exist on the same plane as the rest of the world. It’s a place where if things can go wrong, they will. It’s a place where best intentions are just that. It’s a place of perpetual lateness and it’s just best to accept it. The little people who reside there only move slower when prodded to speed up. You’re reminded of the saying, “if you can’t beat em, join em.” And so you do.
And so too had my brother joined me. He had become a visitor to the Land Before Time. He had unknowingly stepped into The Parent Trap, the place where moms and dads are removed from such things as timeliness and plans.
My brother recently became a father to a lovely baby girl. He ended up arriving at my house a little after 1 pm. As I opened the door he heaved himself up the steps under the weight of the baby, her carrier, and all the paraphernalia that entails.
“Sorry I’m late.” He exclaimed. I smiled, laughed, and threw my hand out in a “don’t worry about it gesture.”
He chuckled lightly and said, “Yeah, I guess you know.”
I did. And now so did he.