We won "Worst Behaved Family At Church Award"

Yesterday's Sacrament Meeting was a disaster. Toward the end of the meeting, I thought of my dear friend, Beth, who has five successful and outstanding children. Beth and her husband Dave are amazing. So amazing, in fact, that they were asked to serve as Mission President for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Arizona. 

I thought of the time a few years ago when Beth and I talked about the difficulty of raising young children. Imagine my surprise when this amazing woman, whom I adore and admire, told me that Sacrament Meeting for her young family was called a Parade. In and out of the chapel they went, one after another, up and down the aisles. I was shocked. And then I laughed. And then I felt a wave of relief wash over me. If this amazing mother could have a parade each Sunday with her young children, then so could I. Yesterday we put on an especially colorful display for our fellow church friends.

This post is dedicated to all the mothers and fathers who feel their kids are terrible. You'll soon realize that mine are worse. Life is too short to pretend my kids are perfect. Yesterday they were perfectly ridiculous, though.

 Everything started great. And then Paxton had to poop. Rod took him to the bathroom. While those two were away, I tried to keep Liam's fussing to a minimum. He wanted to nurse, or stand or do anything besides sit on the pew with me. I couldn't leave Crew unattended, so I waited for Rod to return.

And I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Liam was red-faced and on the verge of screaming at this point. I whispered to Crew that we had to take Liam out. He reluctantly followed, pouting all the way because he didn't want to leave his toys behind.

We paced the halls looking for the missing husband and five year old. I even sent Crew into a Men's bathroom. Where the heck had they gone?

I text Rod.

No reply.

Liam was becoming frantic. I needed to find a quiet, preferably dark space to nurse him.  The mother's lounge had reached maximum capacity. I walked into the dark kitchen, but realized that wasn't going to work because Crew was hanging from the counters, complaining about wanting to return to his toys.

I called Rod. Where had he gone? 

Ain't nobody got time for a missing husband in times such as this.

He text me back.

Paxton clogged the toilet.

Seriously.

Clogged. The. Toilet.

Typical.

Now he and Pax were back in the chapel, I was informed. How had we missed each other? I quickly walked Crew back to the chapel, informed him that he would walk by himself up the aisle, straight to Daddy. No talking. No running. No ninja karate chops. No weird (boy) noises. Just quiet walking.

I watched from the door as he walked to Rod. The chapel was filled with the beautiful sounds of singing; somebody was singing a solo. Who? I wouldn't be able to tell you. My eyes were glued to the three year old making sure he didn't do a cartwheel up the aisle.

He reached his destination.

Quietly, might I add.....

...... Until he turned around in the middle of aisle, toward the front of the chapel (of course), made eye contact with me, pointed toward Rod and YELLED, "MAMA! DADDY'S RIGHT HERRRRRRRE! Riiiiiiiiiight heeeeeeeeeere." My pointer finger reached my lips to make the SHHH motion in record time. I was nodding my head vigorously, hoping my body language would convey, YAY! You made it. Now go SIT DOWN AND SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! But to no avail. He thought I was lost, apparently. He began walking up the aisle to help me. Rod grabbed him and I left the doorway to deal with the fuss bus (Liam).

Liam finished nursing. I walked back toward the chapel and ran into my three ding-dongs in the hall. WHY were they in the HALL AGAIN?? Apparently they had to use the bathroom. Again!

Rod stayed behind in the foyer with Liam, who insisted he be held standing, while I walked back inside the chapel with the older boys, for the millionth time. By this point, the meeting was coming to an end. Sure, we had missed 95% of the meeting, but we lived and it was almost time to go home. One second the boys were quietly gathering their toys, the next second they were engaged in a battle.

Paxton wanted to color-coordinate his toys: green army men at the bottom of the container, purple monsters on top. Crew didn't miss an opportunity to provoke his brother by mixing the colors. And thus World War 3 ensued.

We had TWO verses of the hymn remaining. TWO! And the prayer! We were *thisclose* to crossing the finish line. I really didn't want to take them back outside yet again. I bent over, tried to make peace, physically separated them, and hissed death threats in their ears.

It didn't work. The three year old was unrelenting.

And so he was physically escorted outside, yet again, kicking and yelling "Noooooooo!!! Don't touch meeeeeeeee! I'm sooooooooooooooorrrrrrry!!! I will liiiiiiiiisten."

{{Insert slow clap}}

There, in the foyer, stood Rod. Actually, he wasn't standing. He was bouncing. In his arms was a ticked off baby.

With clenched teeth, I told him that I was done and handed him the three year old, who at this point was hysterical. I marched back into the chapel for the millioneth and first time, my eyes fixated on the five year old who was in equal amount of trouble. I didn't have to say a word. He knew from The Mom Look that it was game over. He bowed his head, hung out his pouty lip and sat quietly until the prayer ended.

So if you're having a hard day, rest assured knowing that we won the Worst Behaved Family At Church Award.