Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Just Another Manic Sunday
My Facebook status read "Reason my son is crying: We won't let him wear a mohawk to church" It wasn't just that he was crying. He was so distraught, you'd assume his dog had just died. Strike that, he hates our dog most of the time. Nevertheless, the emotions ran high before we even left the house for church.
When he had finally calmed down, the sitting in church wasn't too bad. We ask that the boys sit quietly until after the sacrament is done, and then they are free to color, read, or draw quietly while we try to listen. It usually doesn't work out this way, but we weren't doing too badly until I heard Colin's voice, chipper and unusually quiet: "Ballllllllls open! Ballllllls closed!" was on repeat as he pried Chris' knees apart. When we realized what he was saying, Chris sat up and I scooped Colin over to me.
"Colin," I said, hoping I couldn't be heard, that the two empty rows between us and the next family would be enough to keep our privates conversation private, "we don't talk about balls at church."
"No, Mommy, I was talking about Daddy's balls," he explained at full volume (he only has two: loud and the extremely rare library volume).
I brought my voice to a whisper "We don't talk about anyone's balls"
"I just did, Mommy!" He put his hands out, looking at me.
"You did." He had me there. "Just please don't anymore, please. Hey, look! Wonder Pets." I tried to engage him in his coloring book.
"How 'bout Aidan's balls?" He was back at full volume by now.
"NO. ONE'S. BALLS." I whisper intently at him. "Look, here's Tuck. Color Tuck."
We were fine until a few moments later, when he asked to use the bathroom. We rushed there, but had a wardrobe malfunction, leaving us with totally soaked pants. I stripped him, and stood him on the counter. We had a sweater, a polo, and no pants. Remembering a mid-90's TV movie about a family trapped in the woods, I started to put the sweater on as pants.
Colin burst into giggles. Then, I sat him down on the floor, and the waist of his sweater dropped down to the ground over his legs. More giggles. I picked him up again, and we rushed to the church library, where I rifled through the lost and found to find something (anything) that would work as a belt. I came across a Boy Scout neckerchief and smiled at the volunteer librarian. "Be prepared" I smiled as I rolled and tied it around his waist.
Colin and I walked back to the chapel and I stepped behind a divider. Making eye contact with Chris, I mouthed "We have a situation." The people seated near us suppressed giggles as Chris took the pants on a trip home and with replacements. Colin strutted around, proud of his new style.
After sacrament meeting was over, I took him to a classroom and took the picture above). He stood there, pleased as could be, jaw thrust forward in triumph, as though he was thinking to himself "and they thought a mohawk would be bad." So next week, if my child sports a mohawk to church- just be glad he's wearing pants.
Posted by TheFrugalFoulmouth at 8:53 PM