A. I am lazy, and pressed for time and not writing anything new today
B. I wrote this when no one read my blog
C. It is still true and worth repeating and will hopefully make you thankful for any Sunday you have that THIS does not happen.
D. All of the above
Sunday has always been an effort. Trying to be relaxed and feel the spirit of the Sabbath while looking for Sunday shoes, printing last minute things for lessons only to discover there in no ink in the printer, telling my 15 yr old why he can't where white socks to church and getting an equal amount of cheerios in the baggies so there is no screaming in sacrament meeting. The list goes on. I will dare say it has gotten a little easier the older the kids have gotten. But now it is praying that the teenager with her own car gets there safely and on time. Sitting in sacrament meeting my mind often wanders to THAT day. That Sunday when the "very jaws of hell gaped open it's mouth wide after me." A bit dramatic, yes, but you can decide for yourself.
Now this tale is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach as it involves at least 3 different kinds of bodily fluids. And, unfortunately it is all true.
I was 8 months pregnant with #3. Makenzie was 3 and Brandon was 17 mos. Robert was working several different part time jobs. We had one car and he had to work on Sunday. We had just moved and were in a new congregation. My hubby dropped us off with his blessing. I had good kids and was confident I could handle things on my own. Sitting in the pew and before sacrament even started, Makenzie wet her pants. Or I should say, denim skirt. Not knowing what else to do, or bother someone for a ride home, I told her to stay standing up and let it dry. We made it through sacrament, stinky, but survived hour one nonetheless.
Hour two. Brandon seemed to not be feeling well. I took him into the bathroom, where there was no changing table, and laid him next to the sink to change him. I opened his diaper and diarrhea came pouring out, all over his outfit and the ladies coat laying on the counter. I was mortified and apologetic as I cleaned up to the best of my ability. Brandon was now down to his diaper. I was cuddling him in the hallway when my one tender mercy of the day approached me. It was my a young mom I knew with an outfit for Brandon. Her son had grown out of it and she had brought it to church to give to me. I was so grateful to clothe my son. That was hour two.
Hour three. I sat in the last meeting and Brandon was finally falling asleep in my arms. Ahhhh. In comes Makenzie's teacher. With Makenzie in tow. She had been acting up and the teacher, who was very young, could not handle it. I had to get up and take Makenzie to the hallway. After a very "loving" talking to, I took her back to class. Brandon of coarse was awake by now. I snuck back into class, and stood in the back swaying my boy back to sleep. There was a woman sitting next to me with her purse on the floor. Now, her purse was one of those that had several sections filled to the brim and would not close. So it was the perfect target for Brandon's vomit. Yep. Right in the purse. Lesson stopped. Everyone starred. Stinky vomit smell enveloped the room. Doors were open. I don't remember much after that. Apologies were made I am sure. I was in a daze.
I remember waiting outside with my kids and my husband picked us up.
"Hi honey. How was church?"
So now, 14 years later, I know it can never get any worse than that. Or at least it hasn't. Yet.