So last week Dan was commenting on how good Payne was getting in church (I stayed home with Genevieve). We both rattled on a bit about how all of our efforts seemed to be paying off really well, and we may have indulged in a little mutual back patting.
This week I was really excited to take them both to Mass on Saturday night. I even had matching outfits for them, see?
Look at the angelic little buggers...
Yep. You're seeing that right. I put her in the world's tiniest shrug. heh heh.
Ohhhh don't let the photos fool you. Payne did one mean impression of the Antichrist. There was yelling, and pulling up of my nursing cover in public, and licking of the wall (yes, licking), and hitting, and rolling of match box cars across highly textured walls (thus creating an incredibly grating and loud noise), and dumping out of goldfish crackers, and spitting...in the house of God.
When I reached my threshold for offenses that mortify amongst others, without thinking I yanked him out of his seat to go to the back (Dan was holding the baby). I marched him outside for punishment, time out, and a stern lecture, which I was quite pleased with, if I do say so myself. Then we went into the front lobby to wait for an appropriate time to return to our seats. I was sure I'd put the fear of God in him (pun intended!). Oh yes, I'd been delightfully severe and he would understand such actions are unacceptable! In the lobby he proceeded to roll on the floor and try to get me to swing him in circles. Normally this wouldn't be something I couldn't handle, but since I'm only a week out from a c-section I can't really physically restrain him well, and I can't carry him. I tried the iron upper arm grip (we all remember that one from our own childhoods, right?) and the menacing whisper. When he popped me in the arm instead of shaking in his boots, we went back outside for more punishment, time out, and lecture. Then we returned to the lobby, where he continued to loll about the floor in a "super model in an underwear ad" sort of way. Then he farted loudly....twice, after which he wouldn't stop laughing and yelling "My poop!" in front of, oh, ten other people?
At this point I realized I wasn't going to be able to handle him myself, and joined the line for the Eucharist going down the center aisle, so I could return to my seat and hand him off to Dan. Well, the little demon alternated between dead weighting me and performing a sudden violent bounce maneuver that smacked his two inch thick skull directly into my c-section incision. I battled valiantly, but my face must have revealed my desperation, because a roughly 75 year old woman stepped in to help me hold up my son the rest of the way down the aisle. Awesome.
Finally we made it back to our seats, where Dan immediately took over and marched Payne back outside. They returned for the last five minutes of the service, where Payne continued to hit, yell, and cry. My beloved son polished off his hour of "worship" by being carried out of church under Dan's arm, kicking and screaming all the way to the car.
I'm considering this week's mass a lesson directly from God about humility. I will never again brag to myself about my parenting skills. Oh, and Dan is out of town this coming week so I'll be doing church on my own. Pray for me!