I haven’t written in a
while. I know that this is a pattern for me, I get my blog going for a month or
so and then I fizzle out. Well, NOT this time! (Or so I say until life gets the
better of me and makes me into a liar yet again)
A while back I wrote a
blog congratulating myself for feeding my children that day. I stand by that.
On occasion I will hear or read of moms that retract such sentiments. They will
say they were not at their best that day (well no shit), or that they weren’t
being their authentic selves (and to that I say bullshit). As a parent my
authentic self is a tired, overworked, under rested, not properly nourished
semi-human that occasionally does not have crazy eyes. I love my children and
my spouse fiercely but that does not change my occasional need to hide in a
closet with a bag of Oreos screaming cuss words until my throat is sore.
That being said, here is
another story of parenting in reality…
As a
pastor’s family Sundays are a marathon for us. Husband is up and gone at the
crack of no one should get up that early on the weekend which leaves me to
feed, water, and dress the minions for church. On weekends when I am “with it”
and on the ball the boys will have nice clean only fairly wrinkled church
clothes sitting out waiting for them. I will have some type of breakfast out so
that they can feed themselves, and if I am really on a roll I will even know
what I am wearing to church that day. There are, after all, unspoken
expectations that we will be clean, groomed, and appropriately dressed when we
walk into the sanctuary. We are the pastor’s family and as such are held to
higher, and, at times unattainable standards, well, unattainable for me anyway.
Now this could well be something that I am projecting onto myself, but…no, it
is our truth.
As I said on, a “good”
Sunday I will be mostly organized to the point of having an idea where shoes
are. On a “great” Sunday I will have made a nutritious breakfast that does not
include cereal or granola bars and I will have had my coffee before leaving the
house as opposed to tossing it back cold as I pull into a parking spot
listening the church bells ring telling me that a “good pastor’s wife” would
have been there 10 minutes earlier.
But, as I am sure you
have guessed, this story is not about a “great” Sunday morning, it’s not even
about a “good Sunday morning. This story is about the other kind of Sunday
morning.
On this particular
morning I allowed the kids to watch T.V. while I rested my eyes on the couch. I
made sure they had a bagel or a waffle with peanut butter and at the very least
a cup of milk. I allowed too much eye resting and T.V. watching so that when
time came to get ready for church I was in a bit of a panic. I sent the boys upstairs
to find handsome church clothes while I searched every half full laundry basket
and miscellaneous sock pile for socks that were at least the same size (higher
points scored for the same color). I had to send them each up at least twice
and then I inevitably ended up making the trek upstairs myself to search for
pants without holes and shirts without stains. I also had a rather passionate debate
with the small one telling him that no matter how awesome he thought it would
be he could not wear his brother’s batman shirt with penguin footy pajama
bottoms and a bowtie.
I should interject here
that Minion #3 had been asking all morning for Skittles, telling me that he was
staaaaaaaaaaarving and that his tummy only wanted to gigest skittles, not
bagels or a banana.
When all minions were
dressed and ready I handed them devices telling them to sit on the couch and
not move while I took a shower.
That lasted just about 5
minutes before I had a child or his brother, or the other brother banging on the
bathroom door asking how to spell “really cool”, or telling me that his brother
hit him, or asking me why his shoe felt funny.
As I rushed up from the
basement (where the only shower is) through the kitchen and into my room while
clutching my falling towel and trying to remember if I brushed my hair I dismissed
calls of “No fair! I wanted to pee first” and “MoommEY my tummy REALLY needs
Skittles”. I’m not sure if I have mentioned before but our house is old, like
built in the thirty’s and lacks modern technology such as a lock on the master
bedroom door so there is always some question as to whether or not I am ever
fully alone. Needless to say (because this is not a story about a great Sunday)
I did not remain alone for long. I was in the middle of trying to simultaneously
put on my pants and my bra while downing a protein drink (breakfast) when the
small one walked in and distracted me so that I fell to the floor. I was a
jumbled mess of bra, pants, socks and banana flavored nastiness and the child
walked up to me, kissed me on the nose and walked out again. Once I was dressed
and searching for my glasses in the fridge the small one took to following me
around the kitchen going on and on about why Skittles are a healthy snack that
will build muscles. Just as I was turning around to give him the final NO my
hand hit the kitchen shelf which teetered just enough to send the Skittles bag
to the floor spilling them everywhere.
I looked at the mess.
He looked at the mess.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
I looked at the broom.
I looked at the clock.
And then I said “Go to
town.” And walked out of the room.
By the time we left for
church we were all dressed. One of them had on his brother’s underwear and
another socks from the day before but we got out the door and to church. And we
were all a little energized from skittles.
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| WHAT? We ARE ready for church! |
