This Sunday is Mother’s Day -- a day when many moms around the country will be eating burnt toast or cherishing noodle art creations made by their very own children. I vividly remember the mornings when my brother, sister, and I would make breakfast for our own mom and serve her like the queen we saw her as. Most years, that also involved at least one of us climbing into bed with her and eating most of the food. I remember proudly giving her the homemade card and project I made so happily for her. You would think I was giving her diamonds by the hugs I received.

I have a confession to make. (Don't judge me before you hear me out!) I am a procrastinator. I know. You are horrified to hear such a thing from me but it is true. If I am anything with you, it is honest. Therefore, I felt it was time to come clean. (I should have told you weeks ago. I realize that.)

It seems I tend to be eternally late with everything. (Christmas cards should go out before the 24th of December?! Really?) In fact, I am terrible with deadlines. (Shhh! Do not tell my editor.) I count on my friends, co-workers and Google Calendar to remind me when I have an upcoming appointment, project or deadline.

It was always a strike against me in school. Yes, I was the student who waited until the last minute to get her work done. Thankfully, I was able to maintain an A average in spite of my irresponsibility. Besides, if I missed a deadline, I was the only one who suffered back then. To be honest, the adrenaline rush of making sure I met the deadline usually resulted in better work and more concentration on the project.

Our house has roughly six or seven clocks in it. That doesn’t count wristwatches and the clocks in our cars. No two clocks will tell you the same time. You are better off phoning a friend or looking at the position of the sun in the sky if you want a precise time of day when you are in my home.

I showed my daughter how to change the clock in the van. I told her to change it anywhere from four to seven minutes ahead and not tell me how many. Now, unless I yell out the window at some unsuspecting stranger, I have no idea what time it really is and have to rely on the clock. Yet, I am still usually late to things anyway. I call it my Defective Arrival Time Gene. No one buys that.

I used to tell the children that the reason it was one time in one room and a different time in another room was that the rooms were in different time zones. Just slightly off. For a little while they thought that was super cool to think they had more than one time zone in their house. Now, they think I was horrible to tell them such things. (I still think it was funny!)

Growing up my mom always said to me, “Never say never!” It used to make me a bit crazy seeing as “to never say never” involves saying never. It was, however, a mantra in our house because as a teenager I was huge on using the word “never” in many of my declarations.

“I will never get married before I have a career!” (I was married at age 20 while still in college.)

“I will never tell my kids that they cannot do something just because I said so!” (I actually have a magnet on my refrigerator that says “Because I am the Mom and I said so!”)

“I will never force my kids to eat something they don’t like just because it is good for them!” (Come on! That one was easy to break. Just ask my kids.)

I don’t travel often for my job. In fact, it is a rare thing for me to leave the kids behind for anything. However, once in a blue moon, I am able to do just that. In fact, I am going out of town this week. I know that I am leaving my kids in the more-than-capable hands of my husband. Yet, he is not me. He has his way of doing things. They are not usually my way of doing things, though. And, yes, I will admit that his way does work. The kids are happy. But I worry anyway.

And I make lists. Many, many lists. I make lists with the schedule. I make lists with phone numbers. I make lists about the lists to make sure everyone knows where to find the lists. This family is more than prepared when I leave town than they are when I am at home.

It is silly for me to worry, really. The teenagers barely notice I am gone except when it comes to food or the lack thereof. It is my daughter that always gives me a catch in my throat when I have to leave. She is great about it. She barely misses a beat when it comes to my leaving. Yet I am a mess.