Mama Mia!

Today it was another round of Sunday School. With a bunch of little kids. Sigh. If I hadn't been spiritually depleted from missing church last Sunday, I'd've probably stayed home. But I suppose our trip down south was worth it. . I'll always have that mental picture of my little brother Benj in his Sunday best, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, necktie shoved into his shirt, snaking the toilet in Nathaniel's master bath. So much for Sabbath day instruction. I have somehow contracted yet another cold, the fun kind, combined with allergies, where you feel drained and achy and capable of nothing, really, but staying in bed, in a semi-conscious, Benadryl induced, will-this-day-never-end pseudo-coma. With Herculean determination, however, I dragged myself out of bed, and took an extra long shower to try and clear my head. It worked. I guess. Sort of. Anyway, we made it. After tons of wrestling, arguing, coaxing, etc, we managed to transport the entire familia to the chapel down the road. You may have heard the saying "You can go to church, or stay home and keep the Sabbath Day holy." : ) It's an age old dilemma.

The kids were a riot today, as always. They're 4 and 5 years old. We made a nice little rainbow of chairs, and talked a little bit about the life of Jesus Christ. Allison told us about her experience with the family Christmas play at her aunt so-and-so's. They dressed up every year.

"We're you an angel?" I smiled, admiring her beautiful golden curls.

"No." she replied, obviously disenchanted. "I was the shepherds dog." She paused for a small moment. "I don't like Christmas plays." she confessed dryly.

I chuckled politely. The conversation moved to pets.

"We had a gold fish, but it died, and we flushed it down the toilet." explained Ethan, seriously. "Then we had another gold fish, but it ate the 2 little pink fish." He grinned, carefully amused.

"Wow." I conceded. "Sometimes that happens. . ."

"My Dad's got's guns!' yelled Landon delightedly, jumping out of his chair.

"That's great! Did your Dad go hunting?" I responded, directing him back to his seat.

"My Dad went hunting!" interjected Ethan.

"Did he get a deer?" I asked, interested. He laughed, and scrunched up his eyes, clearly amused.

"No, he couldn't get one of those." He shook his head and chuckled condescendingly, as if I'd suggested the most preposterous idea he'd ever conceived. I speculated momentarily about his dad's stalking prowess, and laughed to myself, imagining him decked out in camouflage, warily tromping through the woods in search of his prey.

"Maybe we should talk about prayer." I offered, trying to steer the lesson back to a church-related topic.

"Or monsters." demanded Damon, a frowning little visitor, who was pouting because he'd been forced to join us against his will.

I gave up, rifling through my purse for tissues. Suddenly I remembered the treats I'd brought. I was saved!

"You guys have been so good!" I said, smiling slyly at my fidgety little charges." I think it's time for a treat!" They bounced and cheered. Those pastel colored Easter m&m's were a big hit. They disappeared quickly. At long last, the class was over.

Later, at home, we were finally able to sit down. The baby was mercifully napping. I started on some writing, and Charlie took a moment to relax on our love seat across the room. A few minutes later, Tommy leaned into the doorway.

"Dad, there's some change in the toilet. It's not flushed or anything. It's just sitting there." My husband made a face, disgusted.

"Ugh! How does this happen?" he whined. I grinned smugly. His understanding of my world was being broadened. He laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. I laughed out loud.

"Happy fishing!" I sang supportively. He tossed a sarcastic grimace my way. We heard Tommy from down the hall, in the bathroom, giving the low-down to his brother.

"Well, there's one quarter, two dimes, two pennies and one nickel." He paused, reflecting. . . "How much is that?"

As if it mattered!

I was entertained. I glanced at my husband.

"Are you gonna help them at all?" I inquired casually. He didn't move. After a minute, he made them an offer.

"Tommy!" he called without opening his eyes, "I'll give you a dollar if you get it out. . . and you can keep the change!"

I snickered. Sure.

In a minute, Tommy returned, and poked his head around the corner. He was wide eyed and grinning, clearly for effect.

"I'm going in!" he announced bravely. He was armed with an old serving spoon and a plastic grocery bag. I shuddered and turned back my writing. Whatever carnage was going down in the other room, I didn't wanna know about it. Charlie chuckled, satisfied. Throw that spoon away when you're done! he commanded loudly. Good grief. Makes you wanna yell . . Mama Mia!

I picked up the baby. He was clutching his bottle. He slurped contentedly on my lap for a while, and then climbed down. A few minutes later, I noticed something was awry.

"Did he pee on me?!" I asked incredulously. "Oh my gosh, he did! No wonder I feel all cold and wet, and smell vaguely of urine. ." I held up my hands, simultaneously resigned and disgusted.

My husband reclining against the arm of our couch, set his book down and laughed.

"I would never pee on you. . ." he stated reassuringly, eyes twinkling with merriment.

I grinned at him, shook my head, and went back to typing. What was the use? We are far too used to this kind of thing. I sighed, enjoying the relative quiet of Sunday evening. The kids were all downstairs, entertaining themselves with various and sundry pastimes personal to each, mostly reading and Disney movies. Charlie buried himself once again in his Louis L'Amour novel and I remembered some unsolicited advice I'd received earlier from a kindly old lady at church.

"This, too, shall pass. . ."

I looked over at my husband, lounging on the couch a few feet away, with mixed emotions. I thought of our 18 children, and sighed. Then I thought my sore throat and sniffled. Well, you know what they say. . . Tomorrow is . . . another day. . .