You Are a Better Person than I

I am so embarrassed.

I can never go back to church.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where something hung in the air? And you knew, you knew, something amiss was going to happen?

When Lane informed me this morning that he wasn't feeling well, I should have taken it as a sign. When I was able to zip up a dress I had long ago written off as never fitting into again, I should have taken it as a sign.

But no. I soldiered on. I knew if I had both babies that I would throw in the towel at church before I'd been there 30 minutes (because I'm weak like that), so I left my son napping and marched off to church in a dress similar to Jane's (because I'm cool like that).

The way to keep Jane happy? Keep her eating. Which is what I did. I even let her take her brother's coveted chew monkeys out and play with them (he wasn't there, what did I care?). As the hour ticked on, she emptied a majority of my massive diaper bag. No problem, I thought.

Then she started to scream. Loud.

Lucky, I sat near the back by a door (because I'm smart like that) and hurried out, leaving the contents of my diaper bag spewed across the pew.

In the foyer, I attempted the church time-out. She screamed like I was pulling her fingernails out.

Whatever. I let her down (because I'm a pushover like that). She started to play with the other kids. Then she started to play with the light switch. I ran interference. Then she went and opened the door on another ward's class. I ran interference. Then she went and opened the doors to the meeting we just left. I ran interference.

This is how the next 5 minutes went. I quietly scolded. I tried to grab. I tried to stop. But Jane has the ultimate weapon: A blood-curdling scream. We treat this with punishment because we don't want it continuing into the teenage years. Which, in church, would be the ultimate punishment of a car timeout.

I know what you're thinking. "Rachel, your diaper bag and all it's junk."

Some kindly older man went in to get the bag. But he forgot to grab all its contents on the pew. He went back in. Then I went back in because the coveted chew monkeys were nowhere to be seen.

By this time, I can hear people whispering.

I come back out to see Jane turning lights on and off. (Why are those switches so low?)

I grab the bag, I grab Jane and run out. Defeated.

Then she ran out in front of a car in the parking lot, but whatever. The point is: I am one person with one child and I couldn't stay an hour at church.

So next time you feel low about your abilities, just remind yourself, "I am a better person than Rachel."

And it will be true.

I'm seriously considering drowning my woes in the gooey goodness of chocolate chip cookies. But then this dress will never fit again.

Dilemma.

Jane, happy with her lunch after my lily-livered retreat.

Jane, more like the toddler I experienced at church