At this point in the game, as in, at age 23 months, even the special appearance of a pacifier (normally a bedtime-only commodity) will only render Oliver quiet for so long. For he will take out the nuk to tell me things, and pop it back in. My diaper bag of "just-in-case-there's-nobody-in-the-nursery" distractions include "quiet" activities like coloring and books. I put "quiet" in quotes because any 23-month-old can take a normally quiet activity and exclaim things about it, to it, and for it at amazing decibals at inconvenient times. I also pack food. I've always had mixed feelings about kids eating in the sanctuary. After all, it is a sacntuary. Cheerios may be tasty, but they are far from sacred. There is something about crumbs in a Lutheran pew that causes me to cringe. And they still make me cringe, until I can sweep them up before others may look upon me in judgement- for I am now the mother with the Church Snacks.
Seriously, whatever it will take to keep Oliver from distracting others so much that they cannot worship or listen, I'm up for. So I packed crackers and an apple. Beginning to break a sweat seven minutes into the service, I reached for the ammo: the apple. Oliver loves him some apples, and the beauty is when he eats them whole, it keeps his mouth too busy to holler, and too happy to complain.
"Aaaaaa-poh!" Oliver saw my tactic. "Aaaaa-poh!"
I quickly gave it to him for the fair trade of his pacifier.
Bite, bite.
Drop.
The little Pink Lady began its roll underneath our feet. The woman in front of us reached down in slow-motion with a meaningful attempt to stop the renegade fruit. "Uh-oh!" she said cheerfully. "Uh-oh!" Oliver said, panicked. "Oh, crap," I said under my breath. I probably said something else, but this was church so let's pretend I didn't. The apple picked up speed and took a strinkingly decisive curve to the right...right into the aisle.
It stopped rolling somewhere around 3-4 pews from the front, smack in the middle of the aisle, in plain view. What do I do? I thought. Do I seriously get up, walk halfway down the aisle and pick up the apple? In my panic, the children's sermon had ended, and a little boy walked up the aisle. He stopped at the fruit, looked down at it, then walked on by. Dang-it, I thought. Actually, I thought something else, but again, let's think about where I am. I said dang-it.
There the apple remainend, red and delicious. The light through the stained glass seemed to highlight the spot where it had landed, like a spotlight on my faux pas. I looked at the two little bites. I had given my child an apple to eat in church. I felt like Eve in the garden, and my misjudgement lay shining and obvious for all to see.
Suddenly, interrupting my racing thoughts, a staff member walked down the aisle and grabbed the apple. Maybe he wouldn't know it was us, I thought hopefully. Just walk on past and throw it away...that's it....just walk on by...
"Aaaaaaa-po!" Oliver yelled for all to hear.
Yes, thank you, that aaaaaa-po is ours. Yes, I am the moron who thought it a good idea to feed my child oversized fruit in church. Yes, I am the big dummy that didn't pick up the apple like the responsible adult I'm supposed to be.
My face now as red as the, well, you know, I quickly turned back to the diaper bag- and pulled out the crackers.
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