Sunday

So, it's Sunday at 2:25.  What that really means is that I am home on the computer instead of sitting in my Sunday School teacher development class.  Why is that, you ask?  Oh, I'll tell you.  This is the 3rd week in a row that R is working and I have taken the kiddos to church by myself.  This morning started out fine, but went downhill quickly.  Summer was saying that she can't wait until our church starts at 9:00 again.  I was moaning, thinking "how in the world do I get us all ready for church, dinner in the oven and out the door in time for church THAT early."  But, Now I'm thinking it would be a good change.  At least I wouldn't have all day for the kids to each have their own personal meltdown and THEN try to get to church in a spiritual state of mind.  If Church started at 9:00, I would put them to bed on Saturday night in their church clothes, put a pop tart in the toaster Sunday morning right before I wake them up and throw them in the car, buckle them up and hand them a pop tart as we drive to church.  They certainly wouldn't have time to create as much chaos as they did this morning as we were trying to get ready to get out the door.  It stared with Cole dumping an entire bottle of mouthwash down the sink.  For the third time.  By the time we got to Church (on time, horray! for us), settled in our seats, and folded our arms for the opening prayer--BAM.  Cole had his first meltdown.  Because I made him fold his arms, for Pete's sake.  I didn't even suggest that he close his eyes or sit on his chair.  Out in the hall--in the middle of the prayer--screaming at the top of his lungs.  Settled down.  Back into the meeting--for about 3 minutes--which is how long it takes him to eat a package of gummy tractors.  With 3 gummies left, Sierra asked if she could have one.  NO WAY.  Another tantrum.  As I walked past one of the ladies on the row by us,  I excused myself and told her that if I had to squeeze past her again it would be to get my keys.  And that was exactly what I did about 20 minutes later.  I had left Cole in the hall with a friend while I went back into the meeting to gather up tractors, books, and my purse.  I might as well have taken him in there with me because I could still hear him screaming at the top of his lungs--and so could everyone else.  I barely looked up long enough to see the looks on the faces of the poor people sitting behind us.  It was a look of irritation and gratitude.  Irritated that I keep walking in and out with my monster.  Gratitude that this will clearly be the last time since I am taking my keys with my this time.  

OK, I've vented.  I feel much better now.  I think I will go ready my Sunday School lesson while Cole has his much needed nap.