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I warned them before we ever arrived. I warned them to act like they have been raised properly by competent, well-adjusted adults. I warned them.
They didn't listen.
I pleaded with them to be on their best behavior. I threatened to cancel the cable. I bribed them with ice cream cones on the way home. It didn't work. They didn't care.
Instead of behaving like children who were not born in a barn amongst the farm animals, they hit an all time low in terms of barnyard behavior. They made not only themselves look bad but more importantly they made me look like a fool.
It was a hot, humid day in the church and the air conditioner was either not working or not set properly. Either way, it was hot enough that sweat was dripping down my back as I hustled to keep track of the kids running wild through the pews. I ignored the irritated stares of the judgmental older woman who obviously had forgotten what it was like to try and corral small children in a new environment. Especially one with all kinds of exciting nooks and crannies to try and explore.
I had barely stopped one from climbing the curtain rope that hang from the large window when I saw another one streak past me removing articles of clothing as he ran. I hustled after him, face bright red with humiliation, and managed to catch him by the scruff of the neck just before he pulled off his Buzz Lightyear undies. I hurriedly shoved his arms through his shirt and yanked his shorts back up over his undies, hoping he had been running too fast for anyone to see him. I glanced up to more judgmental faces frowning back at me.
Before I could even catch my breath I was busy trying to herd hot, sticky, overtired children into pews at the back of the church where hopefully we could make our exit early. Of course, the minute I had them all lined up in the pew one of them took off running out the other side. I managed to gather them all together, wedging them as tightly as possible next to each other so I could keep a grasp on all of them at once.
The entire service was an exercise in frustration while I tried to shush their giggles, stop them from fighting with each other, and not allow any of them to poke the people sitting in front of us. It was a losing battle. The worst part came at the very end when we were almost out the door to the freedom of the parking lot. An elderly grandmotherly woman stopped me with a firm grip on my shirt sleeve. She leaned in close and whispered "If you can't control the children you already have then perhaps you should not have anymore." Then she patted my shoulder and kept on walking, giving each of my children a stern look as she went.
My face was hot and flushed, both from the heat and the humiliation. I couldn't form a rebuttal because she had a point. On that day, we were that family. You know the one, the family that you cringe whenever you see coming because you already know how badly it's going to end. Yeah, that family. I piled everyone in the minivan just as fast as I could and laid rubber getting out of that parking lot. The children were completely silent, obviously realizing that there were no witnesses to save them from their mother's wrath should they utter a single solitary sound.
We shuffled into our house in silence. I forcibly tucked them all in their beds for naps in silence. I drank my bottle of wine in silence. When Matt walked in the door that evening from his business trip he was met with the stony silence of a mother on the edge.
It was the last time we went to that church. It was also the day I started to wonder how hard it would be to tie my own tubes.
Shared with Mama Kat's
Writers Workshop.
