Peace be with you...

It’s almost 9:30, Sunday evening, and once again I am staring at a blank computer screen. It’s not that I have nothing to say, on the contrary, I have so much going on right now but it’s a mish-mash of stuff-some has to do with my kids, some has to do with me, some is just plain weird. I also received a few awards a little while back and I need to somehow get a post about this done too… I didn’t want to do a post in a mixed up fashion, writing whatever pops into my head about the last few days, so I decided to focus on one major event of the weekend, and once again I’m going to let humor lead the way.

I thought I would write about our church outing Saturday night and the events that followed, because laughing about it makes it much easier to deal with, but first a question-what is it about going to church, and church itself that brings out the devil in my kids? My husband and I were in two different areas most of the day Saturday, I had my daughter and he had my son, and we decided (or more like I decided and my husband reluctantly agreed) that church and dinner out might be a calming end to our day. But as soon as I mentioned church, my son screamed (yes, screamed), “No!” Now I remember mumbling and grumbling to my mother on occasion before we headed to church, but I never yelled out in protest. And who wouldn’t appreciate a dinner out?

Well, the protest continued, so naturally my husband stepped in to “handle” the situation, except his handling always leads to more yelling and final ultimatums before everything is peaceful again. Then my daughter, who is always looking for ways to “help” parent, chides in, and then my son and daughter start arguing as our ever-loving family piles into the car. A couple more threats and peace is finally restored, but then my husband decides that the ambiance is too peaceful and he cranks up the radio and begins to switch between stations so that each song heard is just a blur. That is until my daughter yells from the back, “I LIKE THAT SONG! GO BACK, GO BACK!” And because my husband is switching the stations so fast he isn’t sure where the song is, once again we have the blur of tunes before reaching the right one.

Now, you would think that things would become peaceful again, you know because we are playing a terrible pop tune that the kiddies like, but my daughter’s latest habit is to sing along, oblivious to how it may sound to the rest of us. My husband and I ignore it-hey if she’s happy we’re all happy, right? But my son can’t seem to tolerate her singing.

“Mom, tell her to stop.”
“Please stop.”
“Mom, tell him that I can sing if I want-it’s a free country.”
“She’s right, just ignore it.”
“MOM!”
“MOM!”
The song ends, and since we are almost at the church I decide to turn the radio off, and now my husband is grumbling as he parks the car. We all file out, and once again we resemble one big happy family.

The service starts a little late (thanks guys!), but all is well because my son has snuck a book into church and is busy reading. Now normally I just let him be, because just as everyone always warns you never to wake a sleeping baby, my husband and I know that a bored little boy can wreck havoc during a church service. But when I glanced his way, I noticed that the book of choice was a comic book-of all the books he has, he has to bring a book where super heroes are punching out villains, and I am getting a few not so approving looks from the little old ladies sitting around us. So, instead of just letting this one go, I decided to “wake the baby,” and I took the comic book away from him.
At least I did it toward the end of the service, but those last 20 minutes or so were pure torture.

First he decided he was tired, so he tried to lean on me with his feet up on the pew, and he kicked the lady next to us a couple times as he struggled to get comfortable. I hurriedly apologized then sat him back up. Next I felt something tapping on my shoulder-he had taken my gloves out of my jacket pocket, put them on, and was now tapping me incessantly on the shoulder. I ignored the tapping until he realized he wasn’t getting the reaction he had planned and I felt the gloves go back in my coat pocket-phew!

We were standing now and I was confident that he would just give up, but I slowly realized how wrong I was as soon as I felt my coat go up in the back and a small hand start to tap on my back. I turned and gave him my best death stare, so he donned his coat drawing his hood way down over his eyes, and tried to “hide.” Now my husband was giving me the death stare, and when I tapped my daughter to have her move a little, she leaned over and whispered quite loudly, “Stop it Mom!” Man, can’t I get a break here?

After communion, my son was now sitting with my husband, and peace was finally restored. We all filed out and headed to our favorite little diner a mile or so from the church, but when we pulled into the parking lot it seemed everyone else decided that this was the place to go on a Saturday night, and with no second choice on hand, we were forced to head back towards town to find something. My son started whining and then my daughter and him were back at it again. I was trying to tune them out when my husband started in with his commenting, and honestly by this time I was wondering if I really was related to all these people.

My son: “Mom, I think I’m going to be sick if I don’t get food.”
My daughter: “You are not going to be sick, you’re just faking it.”
My son: “I am not faking it. You don’t know how I feel, right mom?”

I ignored them but now it was my husband’s turn.

“Hey, there’s the little airport I flew out of.”
Now I become like my kids. “You have never flown out of that airport.”
“Yes, I have, you don’t even know. I was doing some air sightings from a helicopter.”
Ok, so maybe I am wrong every now and then, but then my husband starts squinting in the direction of the airfield.
“Hey kids, I think there’s a plane coming in. Is that red light a plane?”
Now that red light was just that, a red light on the airstrip-my husband is still not wearing the new glasses he got to, um, help him see…

My son continues to talk but I really don’t know what about, and my daughter starts telling him to be quiet, that he’s annoying. I tell her she’s being mean and ask which is better, being annoying or being mean. Her answer: mean. I’m almost ready to lose it when my son interrupts- “We should eat at that chimpanzee restaurant over there.”
We are all silent, and I start to look around. What is he talking about? He starts to spell, “J a p a n e s e…” My husband and I start to roar, “You mean Japanese, not chimpanzee.”

The chimp saved the night, but in the words of George Carlin, "Just cause you got the monkey off your back doesn't mean the circus has left town," but that's for another post… Goodnight everybody!