Psycho Sunday

I am going to blog. If I can stop TWITCHING long enough to TYPE.

You KNOW your Sunday is going to be FABULOUS when your husband leaves you first thing in the morning to go fix a sewage leak for his renter. Leaves you with five kids. To get ready for church. BY YOURSELF.

I was NOT going to let Starling's absence stop me from getting to church on time. If anything, getting the children fed and clothed ran smoother because I wasn't telling Starling what to do every 3.4 minutes to "help" me.  I had all the clothes laid out and dressed the little darlings with lightening speed. I got them loaded into the Expedition, buckled up, and mentally prepared to leave when, OH- The KEYS are missing. Who drove last? Well, DUMB question. If "I" would have driven last, the keys would be EXACTLY where they GO. But NO. Starling drove. And I looked in EVERY pair of dirty blue jeans, every jacket, on every "drop and go" surface.... NO KEYS. Because this is a DAILY occurrence with my husband, I got livid IMMEDIATELY. I called him. FOUR times. No answer. He was APPARENTLY too busy being covered in RENTER poop to answer MY emergency.

Did I mention I was wearing tall hills? No because it was irrelevant up until the RUNNING, RUNNING, RUNNING through the house. I can't RUN in hills, I can barely WALK in them, so I was mentally yelling at Starling with every TWIST of my dang ankle.

I finally GAVE up, slammed open the car door, and gave the orders in a deep, FIRM, partially psychotic voice, "I want you to unbuckle your seat belt, RUN to the van, REBUCKLE as FAST as you're little body can buckle, and WITHOUT talking. GO!"

Surprisingly, 8 little legs bolted for the van. Boeing, of course, needed assistance. The Expedition, or commonly named Gas Sucker,  is fairly tall. It has the little step up ledge to assist entry and exiting. I climbed on the ledge. I unbuckled Boeing and tripped on the ledge. Because I'm a total and complete klutz and have next to NO coordination, I am used to falling off the ledge. Unfortunately, when I tried to do my normal "leg spread and body catch," my legs wouldn't spread because my skirt was holding my knees together. SO. As you can only IMAGINE, I gracefully busted my BUTT. I slipped on my hills, slammed my hip on the side of the car and skidded to a halt once my butt found the cement driveway, and NOT before I mangled my hair- do across the car seat.

SO. I arrived at church a few minutes late, with fury burning in my eyes, bruises making walking painful, and a head full of tangled up hairspray. With FIVE kids in tow.

I found a pew. We sat in the pew. But only for half a millisecond. Boeing immediately started yelling, "Wan DOW-WON! Wan DOW-WON!!!" Breonna stood up and started checking out what the people in front of us were doing, Kolten did something that cause Brighton to start crying, then climbed UNDER the pew for good measure, while the Sacrament was being prepared. My nerves reached a new level of tension. I was snatching children up like a burglar in a jewelry store. "Sit!" I kept hissing. "STOP!!!" I kept whisper yelling.

I turned around and Boeing was HALF way to the front of the church, STILL during SACRAMENT. (Sacrament in an LDS church is similar to Communion in other churches).  I hobbled as fast as my knobby legs could waddle, tripping over myself, my shoe falling off halfway to Boe. I grabbed the giggling one year old who was thrilled about the fun new game he'd engaged me in, and shoved a banana in his mouth to get him to SHUT UP while the prayer was being said. MIS-TAKE.

In voices one might use to yell to an outfielder on one's baseball team, Breonna and Kolten started, "I WANT a BANANA!!!!"

"NO.SIT!" I mouthed with as much FORCE as a SILENT voice can shout.

"But WHY?" asked Breonna.

"BUT I'm HUN-GRAY!" protested Kolten.

Despite the fact I fed them GOBS of food RIGHT before we walked through the church doors.

While I was trying not to have a full blown conniption, Boeing grabbed the banana from my hands and shoved the entire thing at his head. He mashed and mushed until no part of his upper body was UN-banana-d. The bread was passed. Then the water. Kolten grabbed several waters and put them back where people could re grab them. I tried to remove the cups and dispose of them all the while holding back Boe, Breonna, and Kolten who were acting like taking the sacrament was synonymous with BUFFET.   I threw packs of crackers at the kids and pressed my finger to my lips until it left an indention.

About 15 minutes after the first speaker spoke, Starling texted me to see if I'd found the keys yet. That just made me want to smack him.

I turned to wipe Breonna's nose, and reached back for Boeing. He was gone. Vanished. In less than TWO seconds. In the time it took me to look left then right, back then forwards, Bro. Hinton, who was speaking, said, "This must be a Johnson baby." He'd already made his way to the pulpit.

Brad Kelley, a mercifully DEAR friend of mine, looked at me. I gave him the eyes of a pleading squirrel about to get snatched by a hawk. I was mentally saying, "PLEASE- save my child. I am about to die." (If not from a predator, than from severe nerve damage). He grabbed him for me. And kept him. And when Boeing started crying to come BACK to me, dear Elizabeth carried him out until he fell asleep. And I didn't want him back. I couldn't HANDLE him back. I was in OVER my HEAD. VERY DEEP OVER my head. I was swimming in blue jean overalls with steel toe boots.

I dropped the kids off to their unsuspecting teachers for Sunday School, trance like, and grabbed a vacuum. I sucked up half a pound of ground in the carpet crackers. Brad KEPT Boeing, and I sat in my Primary room sucking up oxygen and breathing out carbon dioxide in slow motion. I needed to look over my lesson for the next hour. (Yes, our church is 3 hours. Sacrament, Sunday School, and in my case Primary because I'm in the primary presidency. It's the class where all children 3-11 go third hour). I did my second hour duties. Kind of. But the hour break from my children wasn't enough to prepare me for them again.

Breonna. Was. AWFUL. If you can picture a Jack Russel pup on speed.... bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce...   Or donkey on Shrek. "Pick me! ME! ME! ME!" And after she was "picked" to help, "Pick me! MY TURN!!! WHY AREN'T you PiCKING ME AGAIN??!!"

No matter how many times I said, "EVERYONE has to get a turn before you can go again...", nothing consoled her. Tantrum. Tantrum.

She answered every question before the question was asked. Ran to the front of the room every 2 seconds, and would NOT sit still.

When primary ended people lined up to console me like I'd just experienced a death in my family.

As soon as we walked into our house, Breonna said, "CAN we have CANDY now for being SOOO GOOD!!!??"

I walked away. I just had to walk away. Starling came home. I told him, "Your turn." And I shut myself in my room.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow has to be better. I'm doing really good about going to the gym everyday to get my two hours of child care in. I mean workout in.