Sunday is the Lord's Day. A day of rest, right? Um, not after you become a parent. Sunday morning takes on an entirely new meaning after you give birth, and more kids just make it more complicated. I constantly marvel at how much my life has changed since I became a parent, but never more so than on Sunday morning. Sunday mornings at our house are so profound that they merited an entire chapter in my book on motherhood.
Before my twins were born, we attended a church less than two minutes from our home that started at 9:00 AM. My husband and I loved the idea of going to church early and as he put it, "getting it over with" so that we could have the rest of the day to do things like nap. Sunday afternoon naps are also something you give up when you become a parent. Never thought about that when I considered getting pregnant.
When the girls were two, we moved out of our vet clinic apartment and into a house about 25 minutes away. Now instead of being ready at 8:58, we had to be in the car leaving home at 8:30 in order to avoid being late for church. I loved our church, and didn't want to change, but after we added the third child, the lure of a church two minutes from home that started at 11:00 was just too much to resist. And it's full of people my kids love, including little old ladies who seem to really enjoy the fact that my kids are huggers.
But Sunday mornings continue to astound me. It just doesn't make sense that we can get everyone but myself and the baby out the door by 7:15 Monday through Friday and are nearly late for church week. There is a really strange phenomenon that goes on in our home. The children's clothes and shoes turn on me. Suddenly shoes that have been worn 87 times before are too big. Or too little. Or "hurt my feet." Or slip up and down when they walk. Lacy socks that I have at least six pairs of suddenly go missing. Or should I say one of them goes missing. All of a sudden I have a pile of mismatched lacy socks. Dresses that have been worn before with no problem at all are suddenly too tight. Or too long. Or too itchy. Or "choke me when I sit down!" Hair bows that have been worn a hundred times to school "hurt my head!" Hairstyles that are perfectly acceptable every other day of the week are hideous on Sundays. I just don't understand it! How can these seemingly innocent (and expensive) household items turn evil one day a week?
I have to admit that I have learned a lot about myself on Sunday mornings. I have learned that it is perfectly acceptable to break the law by speeding so long as you are on the way to church. I have learned that I have the ability to nurse a baby while fixing another child's hair. I have figured out that the reason my mother was always putting on lipstick and polishing her nails in the car on the way to church is because after you spend all of your time getting everyone else ready, you are left with approximately five minutes to dress yourself before walking out the door. Ever wonder why the kids and husband all look so neat and clean and the mother looks like "who'd have thought it?" Become a parent. That stuff will make perfect sense!
How many times have you looked down your nose at the people with all the little kids who slid into the back row with their hair on fire and then sat there looking like a deer in headlights while trying to keep their little monsters quiet during the entire service? It's a wonder we didn't spontaneously combust after some of the looks we got when our kids were making noise. And really, who can focus on the sermon while fighting the effects of continuous sleep deprivation and the huge sigh of relief when you actually make it to the church on time? Not this mama.
So how is it that the "day of rest" has become the hardest, and often most stressful day of my week? Simple. KIDS. There you go. Something to add to the things you didn't know before you became a parent. You're welcome.
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