Monday, September 20, 2010

It Was Just Another Manic Sunday

Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your animals, nor the alien within your gates. For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.
                                                                                   - God

Being the jolly old sinner that I am, I sat in church yesterday morning thinking about Exodus 20:8-11 while wondering, “Oh yeah, how in hell am I supposed to do that with these three children?” Yesterday was one of those days when the second coming wouldn’t have held their attention in church. The thirteen year old sat petulantly on the end of the pew, refusing to open the hymnal and participate in the service all the while complaining that he was bored. The younger boy and girl, aged six and seven, squirmed and squiggled, opened hymnals and closed them loudly, slouched in their seats, kicked the back of the pew in front of them, and attempted to engage both the Boss and me in conversation about everything and anything non-church related, such as Goofy’s trip to Mars on the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and why it’s a good idea to paint our chickens blue, all while actively looking for an escape route to exploit. It was one of those days where the Boss and I looked enviously over the congregation at the other parents with well behaved children sitting cooperatively in their seats, wondering, “Where do they come from? How do we get one of those?”

I’m thinking of asking our Board of Outreach to issue Valium to parents walking into church every Sunday.

Yesterday morning I decided that I am going to rent out my children for natural planning birth control services. Forget counting days, taking your temperature, keeping a calendar, or trying to maintain a good rhythm. Spend one hour in church with my children and try to listen to the Gospel message or hear one entire sermon and I guarantee that any couple sitting on the fence considering whether or not it is the right time to get pregnant will run home and sign an abstinence pledge. At $25 per child per church service, with a two child minimum, we should have college paid for before they’re twelve. The standard answer to kind hearted, complimentary old ladies who look at our children and say, “Oh, they’re darlings!” is “Oh, yeah? Try spending an hour in church with them.”

You’ll understand when I write that I am very happy it is Monday morning, because yesterday was

Just another manic Sunday.

I wished it was Monday.

‘Cause Monday is a school day.

And never quite as insane

As just another manic Sunday


Brownie said...

I am so there with you! But I get to add on the spontaneous verbal eruption from Red "poopy, POOPY! NOW!"

The Boss said...

Ah, Brownie. I feel for you. I was sitting in my grandma's funeral, my oldest was just being potty trained. He stood up and said "I gotta go pooooooooooooop. I gotta go pooooooooooooooop."

My sister still teases me about that.

offbroadway said...

Why does Church seem to bring out the "internal" worst of kids? About a 1 1/2 years ago, my youngest was asleep as we got to church. I picked her up and held her. She had finished potty training but had the occasional accident. As I was cradling her in my arms (like a baby) with her stomach facing me, I felt a very warm sensation running down me--from my stomach to my knees. Yep, had one of three accidents she had after potty training while asleep, in my arms, while I was wearing a light grey polo shirt.

I haven't allowed her liquids since.

TobyBo said...

if you get that Rent-a-Kid business going, I have one or two you could subcontract. Great idea.

I personally do not feel Sunday problems are accidental. I believe Satan puts a lot of planning into making sure Sundays go that way.

Tonya Power said...

Our Sundays tend to be very amusing to everyone but us. The Happy Boy will keep Mommy occupied drawing him pictures from his favorite videos while I try to keep his requests below a yell. His cute little voice keeps popping up with "Stop Shushing Me!" The 5 and 7 year old girls spend their time writing books about poop, pee, and underwear. The younger of the two also tries to make friends with everyone within 3 or 4 pews of us. That is a good Sunday. I think we must have a fairly tolerant church, because they still seem to love our kids. Or maybe they are thinking better us than them.

Oklahoma Granny said...

I remember those days and one in particular stands out in my mind. Unfortunately there's not enough room here to tell the story. Suffice it to say that my husband was totally embarassed.

GingerB said...

My aversion to church was born when as the daughter of the pastor I was singled out during a service for my misbehavior. I suspect I am still that child and am forced to be "spiritual but not religious" at home, after all the looks of withering scorn I got, followed by the praying in tongues at the third service we attended each Sunday and then the minor molestation from the congregation's resident of the outreach to felons program. Keep the kids sitting by you, for their sakes, and to avoid them eating all the donuts set aside for coffee hour. I speak from experience.

Marlis said...

Hmmm, Arby, you've done it again. I laughed and laughed. I am sure most church going families have similar stories :) Could you maybe threaten them with dismemberment? You seem like a handy guy, maybe you could build some stocks. Ah, the ideas I could come up with.... I do have a very morbid sense of humor.

Jane said...

Fortunately or unfurtunatley (which ever way you want to look at it) I was organist most of my kids growing up years so most of the time their father was in charge. My two youngest who are very grown up now still cannot sit together without making each other giggle. Maybe I should be thankful they don't get together that often on Sundays. Brownie can attest to the above sentences. And I'm still organist

Linda said...

There was a priest in our parish- before we were members- that would stop a homily to point out an unruly child. He went so far as to stop a wedding when the niece of the bride started to make noise. Needless to say, families slowly trickled out and it became a parish of old people.
Years later, when he was gone, families trickled back with a more patient pastor on deck, and now, 15 years later or more, we have so many children in our parish that people hardly notice when my six year old slowly squirms his way under the pew.