Church Skipping
I am a pastor's wife. Guess what I did today? That's right. I skipped church. Even though it was my day to be the nursery volunteer. I traded spots with someone and at 9 a.m., loaded Babygirl and TwinBoyB into my car, and followed my mom's car (carrying TwinBoyA and YoungestBoy) to Mt. Rainier.
We took two cars because, although each of our cars would fit six people, neither would have been comfortable. And I thought Babygirl might fuss or scream the whole way there (two hours) and I wanted to spare my mother the agony. The older she gets, the more she winces when the kids made kid noise. I hardly even notice it, but then her face squinches all up and then I say, "Hey, you guys! Keep it down!"
Finding a place to park was a little tricky, but at last, we each found a place (at opposite ends of the unbelievably long parking lots). We sat and ate lunch right outside the Visitor Center. Babygirl spent much of her time chasing a pigeon and then squatting just feet away from a hungry and brave chipmunk. We finished eating our picnic lunch, took photographs and then headed for the trails.
The last time we went to Mt. Rainier was four years ago--how does time get away from me?--and it was misty rain then and there was still mushy snow on parts of the trail. This time the only snow was high up on the peaks. Babygirl insisted on walking most of the time, then she would plop down on the side of the path, gather some gravel and fling it onto the paved walkway. Then she'd run some more. The boys mostly wandered up ahead until the trail started to slope upwards. We were heading for a waterfall, only half a mile up, but they all began to complain as the path climbed sharply. I encouraged them to keep going, even though my mom had to sit and wait for us at a bench. I was determined to see that waterfall!
And we did. We went down a stairway, gazed at the cascading waterfall and a woman volunteered to take a picture of all of us with my camera. How nice! Then, we climbed back up the stairs and the sweaty, red-faced boys wanted to just sit and rest. Just a bit further was a bridge over the waterfall and I urged them to come with me and look. They did, but then they returned to the benches. I took more pictures and turned to go, but Babygirl had other plans. She wanted to "hold it"--hold the water! Impossible, of course, so I stalled for time by pushing her stroller to the center of the footbridge. I took more photographs, moved her off the bridge and while she protested, took more photographs.
Then she yelled and cried while I pushed her back down the path. She screamed all the way down, more than half a mile. I'd smile sheepishly and say with false cheer to those coming up the path: "She really liked the waterfall!"
She quit her bellyaching as we reached level ground when she saw a dog on a leash--a really poofy small dog. The owner said Pumpkin was friendly, so Babygirl sat and communed with Pumpkin. And then complained loudly--"one more time, puppy, one more time!" as we headed to the car.
When we got to the car, she shrieked when I put the buckle on her. But it was a naptime and I thought she'd drop off to sleep as soon as I started the car. I was wrong.
My mother took the boys in her car, so it was just me and Babygirl and the demon that had taken over Babygirl's body. Babygirl screamed and cried and sobbed and said "hold it." I distracted her with grapes at some point, but that turned out to be something of a mistake when she resumed crying so hard that she vomited a chewed up grape.
I remembered then why I normally just stay at home when my kids are this age. They are not good travelers. They are the linen suits of traveling wardrobes. Wrinkled, impractical, unkempt. Best to be kept at home. Not good in cars, buses, planes, trains.
She cried off and on for an hour and a half, then--blessed quietness--fell asleep half an hour before we got home. She woke up the last five minutes of the journey, remembered why she was so upset and worked herself into a fit again. When we pulled into the driveway, she wouldn't get out of her carseat, so I left her in the car, screaming, while I took in my picnic bag, washed my hands, hung up the car keys, and had a drink of water. When I went back to the driveway, she was still crying and I had to pull her out of her seat, much against her will.
And now, a list:
When My Husband Is Gone or Why I Would Be A Horrible Single Mom
When he's gone, I plan to paint the living room.
Instead, I leave toys in the living room overnight and dishes in the sink.
When he's gone, I envision eating salads every night for dinner.
Instead, I eat all the potato chips I bought for the picnic. At 11 p.m. With a Diet Coke.
When he's gone, I think I'll catch up on my sleep.
Intead, I stay up all the way through David Letterman.
When he's gone, I intend to finish my paperwork.
Instead, I find more blogs to read.
When he's gone, I look forward to having quiet evenings.
Instead, I get sloppy with the kids' bedtime and end up shouting at 10:45 p.m. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? GO TO SLEEP!"
When he's gone, I imagine ironing all his clothes.
Instead, I don't. He'll have to go to work in his swimming trunks when he gets back.
Or I'll have to get motivated here real quick. Send more caffeine! Send a maid! Send a self-addressed stamped-envelope and I'll send you a kid, free-of-charge! Remember: no returns or refunds!
We took two cars because, although each of our cars would fit six people, neither would have been comfortable. And I thought Babygirl might fuss or scream the whole way there (two hours) and I wanted to spare my mother the agony. The older she gets, the more she winces when the kids made kid noise. I hardly even notice it, but then her face squinches all up and then I say, "Hey, you guys! Keep it down!"
Finding a place to park was a little tricky, but at last, we each found a place (at opposite ends of the unbelievably long parking lots). We sat and ate lunch right outside the Visitor Center. Babygirl spent much of her time chasing a pigeon and then squatting just feet away from a hungry and brave chipmunk. We finished eating our picnic lunch, took photographs and then headed for the trails.
The last time we went to Mt. Rainier was four years ago--how does time get away from me?--and it was misty rain then and there was still mushy snow on parts of the trail. This time the only snow was high up on the peaks. Babygirl insisted on walking most of the time, then she would plop down on the side of the path, gather some gravel and fling it onto the paved walkway. Then she'd run some more. The boys mostly wandered up ahead until the trail started to slope upwards. We were heading for a waterfall, only half a mile up, but they all began to complain as the path climbed sharply. I encouraged them to keep going, even though my mom had to sit and wait for us at a bench. I was determined to see that waterfall!
And we did. We went down a stairway, gazed at the cascading waterfall and a woman volunteered to take a picture of all of us with my camera. How nice! Then, we climbed back up the stairs and the sweaty, red-faced boys wanted to just sit and rest. Just a bit further was a bridge over the waterfall and I urged them to come with me and look. They did, but then they returned to the benches. I took more pictures and turned to go, but Babygirl had other plans. She wanted to "hold it"--hold the water! Impossible, of course, so I stalled for time by pushing her stroller to the center of the footbridge. I took more photographs, moved her off the bridge and while she protested, took more photographs.
Then she yelled and cried while I pushed her back down the path. She screamed all the way down, more than half a mile. I'd smile sheepishly and say with false cheer to those coming up the path: "She really liked the waterfall!"
She quit her bellyaching as we reached level ground when she saw a dog on a leash--a really poofy small dog. The owner said Pumpkin was friendly, so Babygirl sat and communed with Pumpkin. And then complained loudly--"one more time, puppy, one more time!" as we headed to the car.
When we got to the car, she shrieked when I put the buckle on her. But it was a naptime and I thought she'd drop off to sleep as soon as I started the car. I was wrong.
My mother took the boys in her car, so it was just me and Babygirl and the demon that had taken over Babygirl's body. Babygirl screamed and cried and sobbed and said "hold it." I distracted her with grapes at some point, but that turned out to be something of a mistake when she resumed crying so hard that she vomited a chewed up grape.
I remembered then why I normally just stay at home when my kids are this age. They are not good travelers. They are the linen suits of traveling wardrobes. Wrinkled, impractical, unkempt. Best to be kept at home. Not good in cars, buses, planes, trains.
She cried off and on for an hour and a half, then--blessed quietness--fell asleep half an hour before we got home. She woke up the last five minutes of the journey, remembered why she was so upset and worked herself into a fit again. When we pulled into the driveway, she wouldn't get out of her carseat, so I left her in the car, screaming, while I took in my picnic bag, washed my hands, hung up the car keys, and had a drink of water. When I went back to the driveway, she was still crying and I had to pull her out of her seat, much against her will.
And now, a list:
When My Husband Is Gone or Why I Would Be A Horrible Single Mom
When he's gone, I plan to paint the living room.
Instead, I leave toys in the living room overnight and dishes in the sink.
When he's gone, I envision eating salads every night for dinner.
Instead, I eat all the potato chips I bought for the picnic. At 11 p.m. With a Diet Coke.
When he's gone, I think I'll catch up on my sleep.
Intead, I stay up all the way through David Letterman.
When he's gone, I intend to finish my paperwork.
Instead, I find more blogs to read.
When he's gone, I look forward to having quiet evenings.
Instead, I get sloppy with the kids' bedtime and end up shouting at 10:45 p.m. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? GO TO SLEEP!"
When he's gone, I imagine ironing all his clothes.
Instead, I don't. He'll have to go to work in his swimming trunks when he gets back.
Or I'll have to get motivated here real quick. Send more caffeine! Send a maid! Send a self-addressed stamped-envelope and I'll send you a kid, free-of-charge! Remember: no returns or refunds!
posted by Melodee at Sunday, August 08, 2004
4 Comments:
Oh Melodee, I was just nodding my head "yes, yes, yes" all thru this entire entry...
You have a GREAT way with words, truly should be a writer...(not only a mom and pastor's wife). : )
~~Michelle
I loved the list! It's ok to slack off sometimes though--have fun and just relax those standards for awhile.
Thanks for visiting my blog. I like yours and will be back. :)
-Marcia
Nodding head. Yes, yes, I hear you on many levels.
I too have been known to skip church (my father was a minister). By the age of ten I had perfected the fake stomach ache and spent many Sundays watching Abbott & Costello.
My husband was out of town last week and I did somewhat better than you did. I cleaned the house, did the laundry, did the dishes, made a pie and enchiladas. However, I also overindulged in pop, icecream with hot fudge AND caramel, plus I went shopping and bought clothes. Heaven.
BTW, I too am a graducate of Yale. My father did his Master's of Divinity there in the mid 1970's while I attended Yale preschool which involved, I kid you not, cavorting naked on the campus lawn and peeing my pants in the ballerina costume. When it was all said and done, they "passed" me through since I seemed to have at least mastered the cavorting naked part of college life even if my bladder wasn't reliable.
Cheers
Michelle (a different one than the previous poster)
We keep taking our little "linen suit" on outings...We find that she is good as new after a little "dry cleaning." :) Great entry!
~Tina
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