I was late for work this morning. This is my worst trait and consequently, I spend each commute conjuring excuses and responses should my tardiness be called into question. I have yet to use any of them.
However, this morning was different. This was legitimate. This wasn't the extra 5 minutes in bed, the indecision over my wardrobe, the last minute root through the laundry basket, not even an accident on a freeway - who can argue with traffic? No, this morning motherhood beckoned on my way out of the door. My daughter cried and only a mother could help. And so, when I rolled into work 15 minutes late, I did so loudly, hoping that my boss might ask, hoping that someone might wonder, might miss me...perhaps? I was ready. I was fired up. I am a mother first. A working woman second. Yet...Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a voicemail!
And so, I say to you world - "Sorry I was late this morning, I had my finger lubed in vaseline trying to help my daughter poop in order to stop the salty tears rolling down her poor little red cheeks. On ejection, the said item flew out onto my sleeve and I had to find another jacket that would work with this ensemble".
My Olive. I left her smiling and I see her face beaming up at me right now from her framed picture in my office. Yet, unsurprisingly, it is my finger clicking on my mouse today that keeps her fresh in my mind.