Church here starts at 8:30am. My husband works a shift that doesn’t allow him to attend, and so every Sabbath I drag myself out of bed very early to begin getting myself and three small children out the door. Although I have many things prepared the night before, it is inevitable that something turns this process upside down, and we barely scoot into our pew before the service starts.
This Sunday was one of those days where all three children were both irritable and needy, so as we tried to sit quietly, everyone needed to drape themselves over me or poke a sibling or talk loudly. Even when friends took Gabe, Maggie made sure it was impossible to listen to the sermons. When Gabe finally hit his limit, I took all three kids to the foyer. Yet another Sunday service abandoned by a frustrated mother.
I stood there for about thirty seconds before a familiar wave of nausea and splitting headache began. I was allergic to something in the foyer. A quick look around the room and I saw a huge floral arrangement that was left over from a funeral service that was held earlier in the week. It was emblazoned with lilies, which I am I am terribly allergic to, so I took the kids outside until the service was over.
Then I took the kids to Primary while Gabe and I went to nursery. This is my third time in four years having a nursery calling. It isn’t my favorite place to be, but there are good things about it. The noise level of a roomful of two and three year olds is not one of the good things, particularly when paired with a headache.
Gabe lasted about fifteen minutes before blowing out his diaper. When I got back from changing him he gave me just enough time to serve the children snacks and then I had to go nurse him, which put him to sleep.
As I was returning to the nursery with my arms full of sleeping baby, Maggie came crying down the hall. She was unhappy with her Sunday School class, so she came to nursery with me, where I had to focus most of my energies on her rather than on the nursery kids.
Right as church was ending, Maggie collided with her best friend and got a goose egg the size of a Cadbury Creme egg on her forehead. While I iced it down she screamed. She completely lost all control to the point where she was literally screaming the words, “I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING!!!”
She did this for over forty-five minutes. One of the doctors who attends church with us checked her out. No signs of a concussion this time (Maggie once had this exact same thing happen, except that time it knocked her unconscious and an ambulance was called. My life, it’s never boring).
Still screaming, I drove Maggie home where we continued icing her huge purple lump. While I was reaching into the fridge for something cold for her head, I somehow sliced two of my knuckles open. They bled, which made Maggie freak out even more. She screamed at me to get a band aide and leave her head alone. I kept icing her bump and opted to just bleed.
Chris should have been home at this point, but he got off work over an hour late.
I was thrashed.
Finally, everyone got reasonably calmed down. I settled into the quiet of my craft room with my head still pounding, hoping to salvage the afternoon.
It was at this point the doorbell rang.
It was the Relief Society president and her counselor with a plate of brownies. “Wow,” I thought. “Someone cares. Someone noticed what rotten day I was having and brought me brownies. How kind. How inspired. I feel so acknowledged. Wow.” I was stunned and moved. I invited them inside.
At this point in my thinking (and thank heaven I didn’t say it out loud, or break down crying from the apparent kindness of being noticed) my Relief Society president informed me that the brownies were not for me. They were out visiting inactive families and realized that my neighbor was on their list. I knew this, but it was news to them, so they wanted to ask me a little about the family before they went to introduce themselves. Uh huh.
Now, I have a very morose sense of humor. In fact I spent the rest of the day far from a pity party, laughing actually, over my misunderstanding. I’d say “Haha! Someone cares! NOT.” But that smacks of bitterness, and that wasn’t what I was feeling. It was just plain funny. (For the record, many people were kind to Maggie and I during this mess- really- I’m not feeling badly about it).
And the day did improve. I was invited to over to a friend’s house and got to enjoy the evening, so the whole day wasn’t a bust.
I’m scared just thinking about next Sunday.
Day of rest. HA!
