Three alarms. That’s how many we thought we set for last Monday morning, that day after a weekend that always flies by too quickly. Spouse sets the first alarm for 4:45 a.m., then hits the snooze so rock music blares again at 5:54.

I set my cell phone to cue a gentle, melodic tune at 5:55 in case I want to run into the only bathroom we have before it’s taken over for the next 45 minutes. That can be a long time to wait. I also set my cell phone for 5:32 in case I don’t need to take advantage of the bathroom situation.

Three alarms. Take a guess at how many of them rang or beeped or sang to us Monday morning.

None.

How? Let’s call it a series of unfortunate alarm setting events.

At 5:31 a.m. my body alarm triggered me to look at a clock – any clock. Surprised that I hadn’t heard either of the first two alarms (his or mine), I realized there was still another body in the bed with me – and it wasn’t the usual cat or two.

“Did you set your alarm?” My morning voice croaked the question. There was a short wide-eyed gasp, then a gravelly “No.” Immediately, Spouse was dragging himself into a reader’s digest version of his normal shower so he didn’t have to deal with my don’t-mess-up-my-morning wrath.

But what happened to my cheery little sounds that were supposed to wake me up with a smile, or at least a mild groan? I reached for my glasses so I could see my phone alarm. Instead of setting the first alarm for Monday through Friday, I had somehow set it to wake me up on Saturday and Sunday – the two days you had better not bother me at 4:55 a.m.

My second cell phone alarm wasn’t too much of a mystery. It was set for 5:32 p.m.

Miraculously, we managed to leave the house at almost the same time as usual, i.e., about ten minutes later than we should. The day just fell into place from there.

No, it didn’t. I’m lying.

At the end of the day my plan was to bring a recently purchased spring coat to a seamstress for a few adjustments. I set two alarms as very specific reminders. I was so proud of myself for paying attention to the first alarm and placing the coat on top of my winter jacket so I’d bring it out to the car Monday morning.

On my way to pick up Spouse that afternoon, my second alarm dinged as a reminder of my planned detour to the seamstress to drop off the coat. I glanced into the back seat. The coat that was supposed to be there was instead still draped over a kitchen chair, never making it out of the house.

Sigh.

Luckily, my seamstress was fine with the slight delay in my arrival, and it also meant that Spouse got to stay home instead of watching the whole tailoring process.

What are the odds that something would go wrong the next day? Normally I’m not a betting person, but this one turned out to be a sure thing.

My 5:32 alarm went off as scheduled but it wasn’t the soft, sweet waking sound I had counted on. It was an obnoxious, incessant buzz because I had forgotten to turn off the vibrate feature. Hoping to slip another six minutes of snoozing in, I unchecked vibrate. At that point my alarm decided I didn’t really mean to wake up at all, and I was once again running late. Later.

In the car last Saturday, Second Born asked her phone to remind her about something when we got home. She did not set an alarm – she told the phone to set an alarm, and it did. That’s my next tactic, simply telling my phone when to wake me up instead of trusting myself to set it properly. If that doesn’t work I’m going to take this as the sign that it’s meant to be.

I just shouldn’t go to work.