By Nicole Hardy of She Emerges

Dear Darling Daughter,

There has been something on my mind lately, and I’m guessing you are slightly aware? If not, let me cut right to the chase. I’m not sure what time zone you are living in, but it isn’t aligning with the one where we currently reside.  So let me enlighten you. We are on EASTERN STANDARD TIME. Also known as EST.

That being said, “Time to go” doesn’t mean we have three more hours to dilly-dally around.  Had we moved out to the West Coast like Mommy wanted (but Daddy said the cost of living is too expensive, blah, blah, blah) we would be on Pacific Standard Time (PST), which would match your current pace and punctuality goals. I can see where this may be a little confusing – our hometown is sunny and warm with beautiful beaches, and Disney is here, too – but Florida is not California.

So when Mom says, “Time to line up at the front door,” it’s time to line up at the front door. Stop trying to squeeze in an extra hour to fiddle with Barbie or braid your favorite American Girl Doll’s hair. You can tell Kit, Kanani, Sage or whoever the hell she is she has to make an appointment at the salon like we all do. No, really, you can send her to the American Girl store to get her hair done. Yes, they do it professionally. Now drop the excuses.

I know you haven’t learned how to tell time in preschool yet, but following basic commands is just as important. Our Labrador Retriever picked up “Sit. Stay. Come.” faster than you, and I’m honestly starting to worry.

I can’t imagine you would be doing any of this on purpose.  So, I engaged in some substantial research (yes, on Google) to find a cause for this inexplicable behavior. Lo and behold, I think you may have a disorder called “Punctuality Disregard Disorder (PDD).” No, I didn’t make this up. Of course it’s real. And don’t worry, you’re not alone.

Millions of people are affected by PDD each year, primarily between the ages of 2-5 years old, with a high likelihood of recurrence in ages 13-17. Symptoms include:

• Real-time oblivion
• Time zone confusion
• Punctuality distortion
• Appointment adversity
• Agenda negligence
• Blatant assholery

It indicates one should call a doctor when symptoms:

• Interfere with daily life (yep)
• Impair your ability to perform tasks quickly and efficiently (yep, yep)
• Prevent one from resuming normal activity (because you can’t make it to any activity – hell yep)
• Are unlikely to go away on their own and may worsen over time (oh, hell no!)

Rest assured, Mommy will make you all better. I’ve already put a call in to your pediatrician and scheduled a series of tests. Also, I read that a new breakthrough therapy for PDD is in the pipeline with some pretty remarkable findings. The cure rate is approximately 95%, although patients with disease severity (like you) often relapse and need to restart treatment again.  But, I’m here to help you. Trust me.

Helping you will help me.

Because while I’m concerned about your well-being, your suspected illness is making my illness worse. I called my therapist three times this week to increase the dose of my anti-anxiety medication; unfortunately, 10mg, 20mg and now 30mg of calmness in a bottle just ain’t cuttin’ it.

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been dropping a lot of F-bombs lately, doing shots of Jack Daniels at 6:00 am, and hiding the liquor from your father when his friends come over to watch UFC Fight Night. I think I may get busted by a bunch of 40-something-year old men who are wannabe ninja-wrestlers – and that scares the living crap out of me.

You know me, I’ll do my best to get this all sorted out. But in the meantime, I’ve bought you a Minnie Mouse watch with a preset alarm, a hearing aid just in case, and a battery operated Barbie convertible that lets me power remote your little behind to my car so I don’t throw my back out again.

Oh, and I’ve enrolled you in a clinical trial for PDD. Luckily, this investigational study is free, so I won’t take the money from your college fund. Besides, if we can’t get you to figure out time by then, you won’t have to worry about college at all.

P. S. Please share this letter with your sister. She will be 13 in a couple of years.

Love, Mom

*********

About the Author

Nicole Hardy is a 40ish-year-old mom of two, obsessed with coffee, her children and her hair. After 14 years in Corporate America, she’s ditched her cubicle for her calling, and launched her blog: She Emerges. She’s finding herself, feeding her soul, and baby she’s emerging! Follow Nicole on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.