It’s not often I feel completely inadequate to get three children under the age of 6 ready and out the door by 10 am. But when I do it’s on a -
FREAKING SUNDAY MORNING!
Every Sunday morning I awake earlier than the rest of the family. I usually cook breakfast on those mornings, mostly something on the stove. Often as a ” burnt ” offering to the Lord. I figure if I sacrifice a few eggs Old Testament style my morning will go better than the previous week. I am always wrong, and therefore miss the chickens we used to have. I’ll even take back the duck that flew into the flock uninvited and decided to stay.
Much like the new wrinkle lines across my forehead that my 2 year old pointed out. She’s the third one , so they are her fault. Forever.
Each week I fast and pray for Sunday morning to go smoothly. I fast cheapo wine coolers and laundry FOR DAYS. I pray for patience for when my daughter undresses from the outfit she picked out the night before. Only then to try on seven more outfits until she finds the ONE that doesn’t give her a wedgie. By this time I am sweating, begging her to wear her pajama’s. They are new, they are clean. They are right there on your floor. PUT THEM ON.
I blast worship music, getting everyone in a grateful mood to attend church. This is America children. The land of freedom of worship. We can worship anywhere we would like, although my children prefer for me to worship silently. And alone.
” Momma that not good.”
It is an utter shock to everyone that we must wear shoes to church. Perhaps if we practiced another religion, this would be acceptable. But alas, we handle snakes at our church… so we have to keep our feet covered. “We wouldn’t want any snake bites on our tiny toes would we kids?”
No. good.
We really don’t handle snakes, BUT my kids forget every week where their shoes are located. I have to give them credit. ALL the shoes are located in a gray dresser in the hallway, right underneath their bookbag holders. I understand that sometimes things in the house move so Mommy can feel like we have the money to buy new furniture, but this my dears has not moved in about a year.
The assembly line to brush their teeth seems to be a mile long, as they have brought along friends. A few blankets , the dog eating the toilet paper, and a few baby dolls who have poor hygiene, and last but not least the crocodile tears that come with the brushing.
” I just did this yesterday!”
Funny! I just fed you yesterday.
After the bombs go off in the living room while I am wrestling toddlers to get their shoes tied, it’s time for coats. The dreaded coats that hug them too tight, as their hair becomes so static that you are sure they will set off the nearest power plant. While I am trying to find my lost boot that the dog stole they began to complain they are boiling hot in said coats. I rush , and end up wearing flip flops to church. In January.
The ride to church consists of who’s turn it is to draw on the etch a sketch. Many tears are involved and the kids cry too as I chose a child at random, because I have so many I cannot keep record of who’s turn it is. Nor do I really care, I haven’t had time to gorge myself on coffee yet. My mind is numb, and I am weak.
We enter the church sanctuary , only to smile at the greeters.
” Good morning Haggerty family. How are you all this morning?”
” Oh we are great, thanks! Happy New Year!”
I grab a pamphlet, and a cup of coffee. I check my attitude at the door, and my childrens noses to make sure no one has any boogers. That would make me look like a bad Mom. So would me crying in a corner, asking for prayer. So I won’t do that this week.
I will stand proud when the pastor asks if anyone has any prayer requests.
” Yes. Ah Sir. I need deliverance from the Sunday morning demonic spirit that plagues me each week.”
” Well what happens dear?”
” I make it here alive, preach on.”
Sips coffee. Sits still. I breathe.
