I grew up in a home where time was always a stressful issue. Mom was usually dressed and ready to go to a party at least 24 hours before it started.
Before any vacation, you could find her suitcase sitting proudly by the back door — at least two days before we were scheduled to leave.
Then there was Dad, who had this annoying habit of sauntering into the house after a sweaty game of tennis about five minutes before company was expected. Before any car trip, you would find Dad poring over road maps while we waited in the hot car, crammed into the back seat with bags of food and melting crayons.