Sunday, a day of rest …

Before this piece treads into the humorous and sarcastic, I want to give a disclaimer.

There actually is a real piece about Sundays and Sabbath rest working itself out my head. I don’t want to spoil it, but I’m sure I ponder about making crock pot meals ahead of time, and laying out your clothes, meditating on Scripture, and other neat ways for busy moms to relish their God-given days of rest.

The thing is, though, it’s tricky.

No matter how you slice it, any mom on any given Sunday will change 8 or more diapers (at least 2 poopy), listen to 15 1/2 tantrums, clean up three meals and four snacks, wipe up crumbs and smushed noodles on the floor, give two baths, wipe 18 boogers, and, most notably, dress, drive, and disciple aforementioned little ones for a Sunday church service.

I probably made that sound a little worse than it is, because I was trying to make myself feel better for the trespasses I committed today, of all days, Sunday, the Lord’s day of rest.

Our Sunday actually started out really nice. It was a pleasantly late 7:45am when I brought Ty into our bed.

He looked so cute in his pajamas. He was showing us his blankees and giving us kisses. Then, Todd even herded him out so I could wake up gradually in a warm, undisturbed room. (Brownie points!)

I enjoyed about seven minutes of cozy prayer and rest time before Ty realized I wasn’t around. He started clawing at and banging at the bedroom door. Thankfully, Sam wasn’t going to allow for this misbehavior, and continued to yell at Ty and, from what I could tell, yank his hands/body off the door.

By the time we all had breakfast, we looked at the clock and realized we had 21 minutes to shower two adults and dress four people. Perfect.

We were all getting in the car when Todd reminded me he had to drive to church separately, because he had choir practice. I didn’t even know we had a choir. Nonetheless that my husband had a practice for it.

I am embarrassed to tell you that this surprise choir practice was the cause of at least three tense exchanges, and one tearful blowup during naptime. I know. Silly.

In addition to this juicy argument, here’s a few other things that happened today.

  • Ty has an extremely loud meltdown in the middle of Christmas pageant rehearsal. No worries. It’s not like they were trying to hold the attention of 25 two to six-year-olds in there.
  • Ty drinks 2 entire sippy cups of church juice and poops his pants in the nursery.
  • Ty has a meltdown when we get home. He does that thing where his whole body goes limp and stretches a foot longer while I drag him sideways up the stairs for a nap.
  • Although clearly tired, he plays/screams/calls my name for an hour before finally drifting off. I fume for most of the hour.
  • Post-nap time, Todd and I try to implement our new plan to instill Sam with a good work ethic by making him pick up little sticks all over the yard. He hates it. He picks up four and starts drawing circles in the dirt. Every eight minutes one of us yells, “Sam! Pick up sticks!” I’m pretty sure our neighbors think we are running some sort of bizarre child labor program.
  • Sam finally starts to accumulate a reasonable amount of sticks in the box, and Ty decides to overturn it. All h$%## breaks loose. We tear Ty away from the box, encourage Sam to continue working, and decide this would be a good time to wash both cars. (???!)
  • I take a break and go over to my sister’s house. When I walk in, Tommy has just peed his pants, and my brother-in-law is in the middle of a family talk about “improving our behavior.”
  • For some reason I decide tonight is a good night to attempt chicken marsala. Ty claws at my legs begging for banana slices while I cook.
  • During dinner, Sam refuses to eat the chicken marsala because he doesn’t want to eat “mascara.” After we clear up the confusion (and I dump ketchup all over it), he eats it.
  • I yell at Todd because 1) he is wearing his hat at dinner 2) he didn’t tell me how delicious dinner was and 3) he was ravenously eating and not talking to us.
  • I yell at Ty because throws his spoon and water bottle down seven times in dinner.
  • Ty starts yelling at us.
  • Sam, apparently jealous of the reprimands, also yells at us.
  • Todd and I make eye contact and share tired, commiserating smiles.
  • I tell Sam when he finishes his bath we can make another special Advent ornament. “I don’t want to do that today. Or tomorrow. Or ever,” he tells me. Nice.
  • Post-bath, Sam melts down. “I’m not tiiiiiiiiired. (Sob, sob) I don’t waaaaaaant to go to beeeed… Sob, sob, sob.”
  • Todd and I pass on the stairs like ships in the night, each obediently retrieving something for one of the children. We have to laugh.

We’re pooped from our day of rest.

I totally do not believe in eating as a way of dealing with stress. But if Todd asks me again if I want that $5 Papa John’s pizza, I think I should probably support him. Don’t you think?

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