It was such a high-energy service at church yesterday. Not because The Word was delivered with particular gusto or anything, but because all the little children seemed to have a run of the joint. Cryin’, yellin’, runnin’, hiccupin’… my boys were under the pews, kicking the kneeling bench thingy-thang… Lord it is quite difficult to be prayerful when your children are kicking you and your stuff and the church during the Nicene Creed!
So it’s me and another mom after the service is over, and we’re commiserating about mothering and churching at the same time. We were swapping notes about how bad our boys were being and how oh, I do hope we didn’t disturb you… and then here comes a pair of lovely older women, come to coo over babies and pat little boys on the head. And then I hear Minor bust out with this one:
“Your face is a little bumpy.”
The lady leans in: “I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, I think that your face is a little bumpy. It has a lot of bumps.”
Dear Reader, I wanted to melt into the floor. Or maybe fly away. Or disappear. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! “[Minor]! Oh no, baby!”
Little old lady: “Oh, I guess my face is a bit bumpy. I should probably work on that, huh? I’m going to work on that for next time.”
Dude! Lady! Ma’am! Please don’t encourage that!
I’m clutching my child by the shoulders trying to just… I don’t know… recover. “[Minor], baby… can you just say something nice? Like, ‘have a nice day,’ or something?”
Minor, cheerfully: “Have a nice day!”
That didn’t fix it.
The lady clearly was tickled. I was apologizing. She pointed a finger at me: “Now don’t you go scolding that child over what he said to me. It’s fine. Don’t go saying anything! You promise me?”
Now… I’d normally take umbrage over such a thing. Are you pointing your finger at me? Are you telling me how to parent? But long time readers know how I feel about the elderly and, besides, we were at church and I was embarrassed beyond belief, so, “I won’t say anything to him about it. I promise.”
and I’m a lady of my word, so nothing has been or will be said.
Looks like a hospital room again?
Ursa Minor decided he needed to trip into his scooter today, hard, busting his lip and getting blood everywhere. There was too much blood to determine where the cut in his mouth was or how bad it was, so off we went to the ER. The big blessing was The Husband was home today, so he stayed home with Major. Only one baby to entertain at the hospital. What I should have remembered, though, in the rush to the car, was to get the Kindle. We had to wait for about 90 minutes before we were seen. The good news? No stitches, no loose/broken teeth. Just a $100 co-pay, 3 hours of waiting, and the loss of the rest of a rare warm afternoon in February.
Again, though, our local hospital is phenomenal and Minor was treated like royalty. A bag full of toys was presented to him and he was given permission to blow bubbles in the hospital. Whaaat? He was too happy. He was fussed over, he got to see some of the wacky hospital gadgets, and he got to bring home a toy truck that his brother can’t play with. Good day for a three year-old!
I, having spent the morning as parent-helper at school and then spending the afternoon in the hospital, am chalking up this day as a loss. At least my husband let me skip the cooking in favor of writing this blog post (burritos and The Husband for the win!). I can’t say I got nothing done: some freelancing got done, this post got done, and I started my latest fiction project today with a strong 826 words! The block is over! Hurray!
What a start to the week, huh? Hope your Monday was a bit more calm than mine has been. What are you starting this week, Dear Reader? What are you already proud of?
Another school visit tomorrow means another First Impression post on Wednesday. See you then!