Last Minute Louie

This post is dedicated to my sister-in-law, Amy, who uses this expression now and then. I just love it, and somebody should have told me about it a long time ago (see more below). Happy Birthday, Amy!

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One of the most curious things about my mornings with Ian and Julian is the strange irony that I am now in charge of other people who have to be places on time. I am never to my own places on time.

No, really: I used to always miss the bus in grade school and my parents would have to drive me. I missed the bus for a regional track meet once and my Dad drove me 100 miles to get there in time for my race. I was so late sometimes in high school that I used to just skip first period altogether. After I graduated from college, I had this recurring dream that I missed my first class every day for the entire last year of school and then couldn't graduate. If I were an airline, nobody would fly me because I would have the worst on-time record in the industry. By a long shot.

So when Ian first started in pre-school this year, I had to confront one of my biggest personal growth issues head-on. You see, in Ian's school, if the parent brings the child late three times (that means past 9:00 a.m.), then the child is banned from school. I saw this on one of the 467 pieces of paper I had to sign about stuff like permission for your kid to take walks around town, having their pic in the newspaper, food allergies, favorite books, etc. Then I saw that little half-slip of paper about TARDINESS and almost went into shock. Were they serious? Banned from pre-school! [If James Lipton ever interviewed me on "Inside the Actor's Studio" and asked me my least favorite word, that would be it: tardy.]

"Don't worry," said the teacher's aide. "First you get two warnings."

Had they met me? Did they think two warnings was going to do it?

The first two times the child is late, the parent is led to the equivalent of a principal's office to write down on a piece of paper: "I will not bring my child late to school again" and then sign and date it. And the best part about this is that you have to bring your kid in with you while he watches you write this sentence out on a piece of paper. The only thing missing is the dunce cap.

So it's February 1st. How am I doing? I'm pleased to report to you that there hasn't been one humiliating trip to the principal's office yet. I've done everything humanly possible to make it, including failing to strap my kid into his car seat, walking to school with my pajamas under my jeans, and you can totally forget about my hair and make-up. Working from home has its advantages for us Louies.

But, alas, there's still five months left of school. I have plenty of time to screw it up.