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Sunday, August 29, 2010

Sunday Meltdown

In church last Sunday, we arrived close to on time. This is huge. We attended Sunday School, minus one boy who was visiting his aunt and uncle, and I watched as church began when S4 leaned against S1 and they were all so cute I leaned over to Hubby and whispered. "I'm so glad you gave me four boys."

It was a beautiful moment but I jinxed myself in that moment.

After the singing and scripture reading, S3 took it upon himself to use his hands as a telescope to check out the guest speaker and the congregation. S1 was sitting right next to me, which never happens by the way and I just was soaking up, so I had to reach around him to flick S3 in the ribs and mouth "knock it off!"

The looks a moma knows how to give.

Usually we sit in the back of the church. For some reason, we didn't this Sunday. We were near the front. Very near.

S3 continued to pull his shirt up over his head, skooch around I don' t know how so he was in essence mooning the back of the church and every time I flicked him, gave him "the look", he hung his head, waited for me to pay attention to the service and started up at it again.

So I hauled him out of church.

And I am sure we were a sight because I was, at this point, angry. And he was, at this point, realizing he was in BIG trouble. And I was in a little black dress with black heels feeling all girly and grown up and he was dragging behind me in his light up blue shoes with tears and quivering lip.

And I was dragging him.

RC later asked how he was doing. She says she feared for him as she watched him...from the back of the church.

I hauled him into the women's bathroom where he spilled his guts "I don't want to be here! I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to sleep! I want to go home! I don't want to be here!"

He went hysterical on me.

And the timer on the lights in the bathroom was off and so it was dark and we were sure to be heard so I quickly hauled him outside where he continued his wailing of "I want to go home! I want to go to sleep! I don't want to be here! I want to go home!"

So I drug him to the suburban, told him to get in, shut the door, and let him wail. And he did for a full solid ten minutes.

While I sat on the back bumper and felt the sting of tears and wondered just how I was supposed to handle such a situation.

I mean, what would you do?

Me? I hung out on the bumper, watched ants crawl in the gravel, waited for church to get done where my husband knew I was barely hanging on (and also knew I was going to find a way to blog about this) and when we got home I fed him lunch and sent him to bed. Where he didn't sleep...but was angelic for the rest of the afternoon (that evening was a different story, where he was sent to bed early, and promptly fell sound asleep).

I, however, took a nap Sunday.

1 comment:

The Farmer's Wife said...

D., I spent one Sunday EXACTLY like that....right down to the kid strapped in the car seat screaming for 20 minutes, me standing behind the car in tears wondering where that dang James Dobson was in moments like this! When I read your story, I was reading mine. Only my husband wasn't there, so I had to leave the youngest with my dad in church.

Why are Sundays so much harder?
And WHY do we always expect them to be different EVERY WEEK?!!

Thanks for sharing the story! I'm comforted in the thought that you're on the same parenting page.