Sitting in a pew with a 2-year-old, at a service with no nursery available, as people from the congregation are preparing to act out a three-part play, we will sing several songs from Africa that no one knows the words or tune to. He wants up in my lap. He wants down. He wants to kick the seat of the person in front of us, who keeps shooting daggers at us. He wants his stuffed bunny. He throws it on the floor and steps on it. He takes everything out of my purse. He puts my lipstick on. He sticks his fingers in my hand cream. He removes and returns every coin in my pocketbook. He says he wants to sing, or to listen to singing, but he whines during every song. I wanna go I wanna go I wanna go. It's his mantra. Over and over and over again. He wants to sit in the seat and rock back and forth, disturbing everyone down the entire row. He keeps whining for a chocolate chip muffin, the prize for being a good, quiet boy in church. And never to disappoint, "Why?" was his response everytime I told him he needed to be quiet and still. Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy.
And that was just during the prelude.
Needless to say we left early. We did go to the coffeehouse for a muffin. It was more for me than him. Amy, if you get through this without smacking him, you get a treat. I really deserved jewelry. Big fat multi-faceted, multi-carat diamonds. And perhaps a vodka tonic.
And that was just during the prelude.
Needless to say we left early. We did go to the coffeehouse for a muffin. It was more for me than him. Amy, if you get through this without smacking him, you get a treat. I really deserved jewelry. Big fat multi-faceted, multi-carat diamonds. And perhaps a vodka tonic.
Comments