Out the Door

Each morning, there is a small time span that tightens the muscles on the back of my neck so tight - musical notes could be plucked off them... and it wouldn't be some playful overture - talkin' more of a scorched earth march through the South. Steam comes out my ears as I vent the stress on a daily basis to get people moving out the door and off to their daily regimen.

I don't like to be late. Not with a fox, not in a box... I do not like being late. Unfortunately, my other half doesn't know what it means to be early... and the trouble with compromise in this situation is that the clock doesn't lie. It is an instrument of exact science, right down to the second. So even her "earlier than usual" is my "later than average" (over the course of my lifetime).

As I attempt to get to work, school, church, other activities... in order to simply leave the house I must bob and weave through obstacles and around objects (luggage sized purses and piles of shoes). My heart pounds as the veins and arteries in this body are probably hard as cement with intermittent bouts of plaque blockage. Yes I have been quoted before as saying sarcastically to people who think I overstress - "I will probably die of a heart attack from the stress I feel from being late on a regular basis..."

However, the greatest obstacle is one I can't really do anything about. This obstacle is the space in the back of our house where four doors were once located. Call it a landing, a narthex, a rear entry, whatever... I call it an intersection reminiscent of spaghetti junction. One door has been removed, but this small "intersection" is still the route to head out of the house through the back door. Any newer home probably wouldn't allow such a tight space with so many potential options but ours is set this way and probably will be forever. To make it through this intersection - out the door - can be such a minefield.

Especially in the winter with stuffy jackets.

And carrying bundles and bags - I carry my youngest through the door reminiscent of Walter Payton with a football weaving his way to sweetness, or is it Barry Sanders cutting past Vikings?

The thing is, I am trying to set an example for my kids. To break out of this mould - into something different. Something that arrives on time, perhaps even early as the bird who gets the worm. Unfortunately what my kids probably see is an old man popping grey hairs from being stressed about something as trivial as being late.

Is it trivial?