Sunday was not Funday

Sunday was a bit of a hormonal crazy fest.  When I type this - the things that go through my mind:  all those nice married couples that are peaceful all the time and all those married couples that don't say a word about their spouse.  Oh dear.  1)  When God made me, he dumped in a bit more fire than the usual allowance that a batch should take and 2)  I would not have anything to talk about if I didn't write about Big D.  PS - in case anyone is worried about Big D's feelings - the only thing he doesn't want me to say is, "what a wretched man" he is.  Ok, check.  So lots of fire and hormones = one big explosion.  Actually no.  It was a small spark jumping up.

Breakfast went on.  Big D cooked us some yum yum things.  He's better at breakfast cooking then I am.  Ed and Murnice prefer his morning food to mine.  I think cheerios is a perfect way to start a day.  Big D thinks chicken is better.  (that was a jab at the one time . . . *ahem**ahem* that SOMEBODY thought it would be a grand idea to take the perfectly trimmed chicken breast that was just sitting in the fridge and cook it for breakfast.  And then claim that they needed protein, apparently overlooking the fact that there were 18 protein filled eggs ALSO sitting in the fridge)

Then Iss gave Murnice's hair a snip snip, and Murnice weeped and wailed.  Claiming it was nothing like she asked for . . . I guess that's a normal response for a 7year old.  I think she said that she didn't feel like a queen.  (In our society, the word "sexy" is ridiculously oversaid and overplayed.  When my 4 year old was talking about sexy, I introduced the word "queen".  Because that's what they really mean.  Queens look beautiful and feel beautiful and act beautiful and that's something of worth to strive for.  Not sexy.  Sexy is for bedroom bam bams)

And then we drove to church.  Murnice still weeping and wailing.  I believe that children should learn the art of sitting nicely for periods of time while also being quiet.  And what better place to practice that art, then at church.  So, we keep Ed with us.  Murnice has learned the art - and she rocks her socks at it.  Ed on the other hand, not so much.

First it's sing song time.  And he tolerates that - being held.  With blue.  Next, he immediately starts digging through my bag of funness and grabs his notebook and pen and draws a million "bobbys" which really are just small circular scribbles.  Then he likes to flirt with me by drawing lines on the very very edge of his notebook with the pen.  I get really excited (the pen being so close to the fabric pew)  Boredom takes over and now it's time to grab all the other paper accessories from the back of the pew - and properly throw a fit when I say "no".  "Alright fine!  I'll just play ball".  So he grabs the small bounce ball and starts to play catch with Big D.  Excellent choice Dad.  Two year olds can't really catch, so the ball is essentially flying and rolling everywhere - which makes Ed super happy that he gets to go exploring under the pews.  And now it's time for Murnice to be dropped off to her class and I think that Big D is coming back to assist in this miserable part of parenting.  (Big D never comes back)  For the next 20 minutes Ed works in circles of a 3 second snuggle, fussing because he can't find the "red"car, scribbles of "bobby".  Eventaully, he decides that he's going to try something new.  And the something new would be loud, fake baby cries of "wah, wah".  I get REALLY excited at this point and marched him to the back of church (like a sack of potatoes)(he is loving this) find a little room and put him at eye level with me.  I gave him a tongue lashing and he is saying "yes mama" as fast as he can.  Over and over.  So I march, at a much slower rate, back to our frontish row pew and try again.  We had a short power struggle - and I won.  And then magically, a nickle appeared.  And not a finer game can be found, other than - shove the nickle between the pew cracks so that it hits the metal legs.  Clunks loudly and fine for all to hear.  And then scramble under the pews to retrieve and do again.  Yes, a fine game. If it didn't clunk.  I really don't know what happened next.  I think I blacked out from pure exhaustion for a brief moment.  But the next thing i know, Ed has walked down the entire length of the pew (I think it's at least 30 feet long) and wound his way to pew behind me.  Of course looking for his nickle.  He was being quiet and sweet.  And it was lovely.  I'm still breathing at this point. But then he gets lost, and ends up in the front of the church, looking so sweetly for his mother.  Now everybody on both sides of the aisle are waving violently and pointing directively and whispering raspishly to where I am seated.  Trying to direct the poor boy (who is actually loving the new scenery) back to his mother.  I have utterly had it by now.  I am completely exhausted and beyond all sorts of reasonable actions and tones of voice.  By the time we got home I was in tears about not having friends.  Yes, that's the level of rational I was working at.

There's a lot more that happened Sunday, but I'm exhausted just thinking about all of this.  And I don't feel like talking about it anymore.  It has to do with more irrational behavior and heated fellowships.  Surprise surprise.

Take Aways
1)  Just smile and nod.
2)  Keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.
3)  And tell me what a fine son I have.
4)  I sit in the sun for an hour a day and have found it works miracles on my disposition.
5)  I put the kids down for a nap, and then sat in the sun.  It was good for our marriage.  Big D liked it.