Well, it happened again. Sunday morning turned into me yelling at my kids to get out the door to church. While we should be preparing ourselves for a reverent, worshipful experience I’m yelling at them to get their shoes on for the 15th time. I’ve given them ample time to get dressed yet when I go back to check on their progress 30 minutes later I either find them a) still in their jammies playing with toys, or b) playing with toys; naked. I’m not willing to give up Sunday morning church. This is my time, dang it. I need these two hours to recharge my spirit and get ready for the week. Once I’m there everything is right with the world and we are all fine and dandy. It’s just getting there that is wearing me thin.
So this is usually how it goes down in my house on Sunday morning.
Everyone is awake at least 2 1/2 hours before we need to leave. Plenty time. Plenty. Addison has been up since 5:30 a.m. playing Minecraft. He can barely drag his butt out of bed during the week but on the weekend he’s up before the birds to play video games. He knows not to bother us so, whatevs.
I limit the breakfast TV watching to two episodes of Peppa Pig. After 40 minutes the TV is turned off and everyone is sent to their rooms to begin the dressing process. There are pleas for one more episode of Wild Kratts or Max and Ruby (Harry pronounces it Max and Ruvy) but I stand firm. I know what’s coming and TV does not help the situation.
I sit with my cup of coffee and flip through the paper (i.e. read the comics), scan FB and catch up on one or two of my favorite blogs. After about what felt like 10 minutes but is more like 45, I realize I only have 30 minutes to shower and get ready. Before I go back to my bedroom I check on the boy’s progress, or lack there of. I let them know that they have done nothing I have asked and they now only have half an hour to get it together.
Dear Husband and I remind ourselves that I’m not going to yell at them again today. We have told them there will be consequences and will calmly enforce those consequences when they fail to meet our demands. Yup, a united front. That’s what we’re all about.
Midway through blow drying my hair I am either interrupted to wipe Harry’s hiney, inform him that he can’t wear sweatpants and he needs to change or dig through the dryer to find pants for Addison. I’ve still got time.
3 minutes to launch and they have had ample time to get ready. Upon inspection, teeth have not been brushed, socks nor shoes are on their feet and they are casually playing the bongos or building legos.
At this point I have given several warnings and I’m ready to walk out the door. This is when I loose my shit. For the next 45 seconds I yell at the top of my voice something to the effect of when I say move I mean now, not 10 minutes from now…have either of you heard anything I’ve said all morning…why don’t you have socks on, I told you to put your blasted socks on 3 times and 10 minutes ago…how hard is it to move your bodies toward the car?!
When these outbursts occur, the drive to church is silent punctuated by a sniff or two from Harry. The tension from Dear Husband is ridged and I mentally punch myself for being such a crappy mother. Yet again, I apologize for blowing my top followed by my exasperated plea to please follow my instructions in the future. If only they would just do what I say when I say it, all would be peaceful.
You know that saying “If mamma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy”. I’m waiting for that to sink in with the little people in my house. You would think by now they get it because you can set your clock by it…you know it’s time to go to church at hell-thirty.