Sympathy for the Devil Child’s Mama
Don’t let the sweet smocking fool you!
Potty training by 3 was apparently divine intervention–God’s way of preventing me from going ballistic when Miss A started demonstrating behavior of a most sassy like nature. We seemed to bypass the Terrible Twos with Miss A, but she’s now making up for that. While I fully encourage to be an overachiever, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
For some insane reason, I thought it would be fun to have a girls’ morning at church Sunday and sit together, rather than send them to the kids’ program far, far away in another section of the church while I listened intently to the sermon zoned out and rested my weary brain under the guise of church. The hubby stayed home sick with a bad sinus infection was smart enough to stay home with the dogs.
I knew it was probably not ideal to let Miss C talk me into sitting on the 8th row at church, even though we sat at the end of the row. Oh foolish mommy! Our church is a fairly large rock star Jesus type assembly, so I was wishfully thinking that the girls would sing and clap and then sit peacefully through the sermon as I’d packed enough distractions for an entire bus load of children. Besides, I had secured the most awesome of bribes–girly booty of magnaminous proportions–Barbie fruit snacks (before the Botox edition.)
Unfortunately about 40 minutes into the service Miss C snatched Miss A’s pastel green sunglasses from the goody bag I’d packed and put them on, while Miss A declared “Those are MINE! Take them off!” and proceeded to play tug of war with the glasses while they were still on Miss C’s head. I threatened Miss A in my loudest screaming “you are so going to get it” mommy whisper. We had made it this far without incident, but I was starting to sweat bullets freak the hell out as the preacher closed the sermon. Could we make it? The proverbial last straw was when Miss A laid down in her seat backwards and stuck her feet up in the air. Suddenly I morphed into that token mother. The one practically dragging her child kicking through church and to the parking lot and threatening to spank her while people either smiled in empathy or looked on like I was the worse mother on the planet and they were about to speed dial Super Nanny. The real clincher was the fact that the pastor’s message was on the treasures of parenting. No, I am not kidding.
And on the 8th day? God created children’s church, and it was good and all the frazzled parents shouted “Amen!” and didn’t long for a drink at high noon on Sunday in a county that doesn’t even sell beer until that time.
