Sunday Pains

Don't let this fool you:



Whoever said that "Sunday is a Day of Rest" clearly was not the mother of toddler. The prospect of preparing for sacrament meeting with Emily each week gives me anxiety. My main objective on the Sabbath is to simply make it from the opening hymn to the closing prayer without any major meltdowns. This involves pulling out all the stops. New toys, candy, whatever.... It is only a matter of survival.

Today I barely managed to make it. No sooner did Emily and I enter the chapel to join Katelyn and Eric on the bench they'd saved for us, did outbursts ensue. Sometimes I think I gave birth to the loudest child on the earth. And her volume in a quiet chapel seems magnified by fifty. My bribes of chocolate and Skittles did nothing to console her. After several choruses of shrieking whines, I figured I had to get Emily out of there before the bishop came down and threw us out himself. Hard as I was trying to keep my cool, I'm afraid the manner in which I seized Emily off the bench, followed by our exit of perhaps irreverent demeanor, gave members of my ward family the impression that Emily would not be returning alive.

The sacrament was brought out to us in the hallway, though heaven knows the terrible things going through my head could have disqualified me from partaking of it. Once Emily had settled down (and her mother as well), we gave the meeting another shot. Immediately upon seating ourselves, Emily empties a box of Care Bear cards and uses them as confetti.

"I am quitting church!" I hissed at Eric. No argument from him. And I'm almost positive that the family in front of us was nodding in joyous agreement at my statement. I'm certain the poor families who are seated by us each week would fully support my decision to never darken the doors of the chapel with Emily again.

Any other moms out there feel like THIS on Sundays?