A Holy Day

First of all, you're welcome for finally writing a new entry and getting that bloody toe off of my blog page. Let's put up a prettier picture, shall we?







That is a Starbucks Frappucino, with my name on it. Literally. It was a Mommy's Day Out today. I gave Michael a heads-up on oh, about Wednesday, that I would be needing some serious time all to myself by Sunday. By mid-week, I began to feel increasingly edgy. The days ahead promised for a stressful work week, a couple of days with Michael out of town, and some mad multi-tasking skills. Example: after work on Friday, when Michael was traveling, I was feeding Oliver and myself dinner while pushing a grocery cart and menu-planning for the week. And that was an hour before watering our gardens while keeping Oliver out of the Petunias, just after he crawled through several mud puddles as the neighbor's dog ate his turkey slices off of the lawn blanket. And that was an hour before I put Oliver to bed, baked two cakes for a party the next day, put away groceries, and organized the mud room. After a total of four hours on my feet, I sat down and finished charting from my work day. That was an hour before I finally went to bed. Which was an hour before I woke up to severe weather sirens blaring, leading me to trapse downstairs and listen to the severe thunderstorm for another two hours and worry about the safety of my house and my baby.

Today was Sunday. Part of me feels like my weekend just started. After taking a dreamful nap, I went to Toy Story 3, which was fantastic. I ate popcorn for lunch. I went to Barnes and Noble, where I sat down with my Frappuchino and a book I had been wanting for some time, a book written for the "Half-Insane Working Mother." (Just Let Me Lie Down, by Kristin VonOgrop, editor of Real Simple). I bought the book and then wandered the isles of Michael's craft store, happily inspired by several projects that will take months for me to get around to. It was a good day.


Poor Mr. Oliver did not have such a good day. We were thrilled to discover that for the first Sunday in over a month, our church's nursery was staffed and open for 1-year-old business. It's been months now since Oliver has been able to sit in church with us, as he is prone to pointing and calling out to the ceiling fans, grabbing the sweaters of old ladies sitting in front of us, and eating the church bulletin. The first time that we were stuck without the resource of the church nursery, we were horrified to realize that it coincided with a candlelight vigil service. Everybody was to hold a candle, and the flame originating from the ginormous candle that the pastor held was passed down from person to person. We felt inconspicuous, sitting in the back pew, until the service started right then and there. We were the first to receive the flame. "The Light of Christ," the pastor boomed, tipping the candle towards us as the congregation stared. Michael and I looked desperately back and forth at each other, wondering what to do. Didn't the pastor see that we had a wiggling, grabby child in our hands? He was tipping fire towards us. Fire! We navigated the flame safely around Oliver, then quickly blew it out, knowing God would understand.

Today, we dropped Oliver off in the nursery and sat happily, just the two of us, side-by-side in a pew towards the front. Ten minutes in, a third person slipped in next to us. It was a sweet 16-year old who was working in the nursery. "Hi, um, he's really crying, we think something's really wrong."

I followed her back to tearful Ollie, who was crying and hiccup-sobbing. He rarely has trouble in social situations, and it took me a while to calm him down, so I chalked it up to teething. Two dropper-fulls of Tylenol and ten minutes later, he was content, and I walked back into church. Just as the sermon started: tap, tap. The teenager had a very sorry look on her face. Ollie was inconsolable; I spent the remainder of the service in the nursery with Ollie on my lap. Apparently, his tears made everyone else sad, too. When I walked in, no fewer than four pre-schoolers were crying. Their tears were intermittently quelled by Cheerios, a movie, then a different movie, Dixie cups of water, and more Cheerios. It was a very sensitive Sunday.

Oliver and I were both happier by the end of the day. We had been to church, for the most part. I had a day to myself, set apart for rejuvination. We both got great naps, and we both got to play. And when the sun set on this holy day, we met each other in the best of places, rocking sweetly to sleep in each other's arms.