As I've said in earlier posts, it's nearly impossible to escape from the newsroom in the early evening (for some reason, everything comes to a head then). However, spring sports have been forcing me to get out to get the kids to their games in uniform and on time.

So, I get everything I can edited for the next day's newspaper as early as possible, hand off the news "budget" to the night copy editors, and with a "You can get me on my cell!" scramble out the door at the last moment.

Once I'm in the car, without fail, my cell phone rings. It's not the office, though, it's my husband with my daily "where the heck are you?" call. When I admit where I am enroute, I usually get a stern, "Babe, you've gotta be kidding me."

And nope, I never am. It's the truth. I'm running late.

Last night, per usual, I was answering last-minute questions about a story as I grabbed my purse and literally ran to my car. Thirty seconds down the road — you guessed it — I get the "where are you" call. Well, at least that's what I anticipated hearing. I was all ready with my answer/excuses of my whereabouts, but instead, he just jumped right in.

He explained that he was leaving the baseball field with our daughter to get her to the soccer field for her game (what probably should have been my job). There was no panic or concern in his voice — just total calmness.

"I just told Dave (a friend of ours who was at the field with his son) that you would be along shortly. So, I'll talk to you later. Love you, babe!"

I hung up a little stunned. No flak whatsoever? Could it be that he's finally come to terms with the fact I'm probably always going to struggle to get out of the office at that time of day? Maybe. Or maybe he was just in a super forgiving/accepting mood. Either way, I was super relaxed as I drove to Doubleday fields, toted my chair to the location of the game and gave my son a little wave upon my arrival. Time for a little forced relaxation.

It was a great game, too. My son, who had seemed to settle into being walked every time at bat thus far in the season, took to heart our encouragement to get in there and swing. Two solid base hits later, I took home a beaming little boy.

In a couple hours I'm going to have to pull off another one of my "have to be in two places at the same time" tricks. Of course, that translates into "we'll be late for at least one thing, and one child will be unhappy."

Usually when our children have sports practices at the same time in different locations, my husband and I split the duties and meet back at the house at evening's end. But tonight, he has to work late, and I'm left to figure out a way to make it all happen.

There's only one real solution: getting help. I've put a call into to another soccer parent to see if my daughter can get a ride home, but I have no real Plan B if that doesn't pan out. So cross your fingers they check the answering machine before heading out the door.

If it was me, I'd never remember to do that before scrambling out to practice. In fact, I never even make it home. I asked the kids this morning to pack everything they needed for practice in the car, so the backseat is full of baseball bats and gloves, a soccer ball, cleats, etc.

I'll be escaping the office at the last minute (and hoping for green lights and no traffic) to get across town to their after-school program. I'll grab their book bags and toss them their clothes to change in the bathroom there at the school. Then we'll race to the car and off to one of their sports fields. We might have to flip a coin to see which one gets to be on time.