Average Sunday

  It's ten to two on a Sunday and already the day has been anything but relaxing. Ten minutes before we were to leave for church my son, who spent the night over at his cousins called to inform us that he somehow lost the shirt he had taken with him and could we bring him another? No! Find your shirt.  Am I the only mother that thinks it is bizarre that a fifteen year old boy is unable to keep track of his clothing?  This boy has the ability to disclose the whereabouts of any and all electronic devices in the house at any given time. He even knows who owns what around town. You don't need to know my son just walk by with a Blackberry to your ear and he could pick you out of a police line-up identifying you solely by your ipod.

As we were walking out the door (behind schedule because we were looking for a dress shirt) I noticed my youngest didn't have her hair combed.  As I called her over I discovered she is not wearing tights (or socks, just boots) and her teeth aren't brushed.  Now, I'm miffed, not at her, at me.  I saw her seated, eating cereal and assumed she was following the rule of no lounging until you are dressed and ready.  I'm a seasoned parent, I know better than that.   So now I'm ripping through her hair ranting about how gross it is to go anywhere without brushing your teeth, how unfair it is to others to have to smell the stench of food that has rotted between your teeth over night and there's six feet of snow outside how did she think her feet were going to stay warm besides we never wear any shoes (except sandals, I assumed that was a given) without socks.... I can say a lot without taking a breath.  Greater lung capacity comes with practiced rantings.

Now we are really behind schedule but I comfort myself with the thought that we are not as behind schedule as last week. I remember the roast and pull it out of the freezer, we'll have Sunday dinner tomorrow night, sandwiches will have to do. Walking through the drive is more difficult than usual because the snow has drifted between the cars.  I become frozen (not because of the cold) at the sight of my car because much to my distress the front bumper of my 97 Pontiac Breeze in hanging by the center with both sides dropping into the snow.  Before I can speak my husband makes a comment something the the effect that it must have happened plowing through the snow.  Now it starts, I begin ranting in my head... It's my car, I'm the only one that is supposed to be driving it, I didn't plow through snow, I drive on the roads that the county plows, in fact I haven't left the house in two days, how did that happen? (I'm leaving the exclamation points out) He pushed the bumper back in place while I stood speechless (on the outside) and he assures me it will stay there, but I know better.

There is a two foot snow drift by my side of the car so I hesitate a bit before plunging in, my husband seizes the moment to get on my good side and says "Stay there, I'll back up a bit so you can get in."  He backs up pulls forward, backs up, pulls forward, now I'm starting to wonder what he's doing. Again he backs up and up and up and now I'm waving and saying wait, whatcha doing? Then I'm screaming, STOP.  Too late, he ran into the front driver side door of his little green Dodge Caravan which he had parked perpendicular to mine in a place he normally doesn't park. 

And then my bumper fell off.

After we lifted the bumper back on we silently headed off to church.  The girls in the back seat were very quiet except for their inquiries to spend the afternoon with their Aunt. I don't blame them for that, the thoughts racing around my brain are destined to come out, it's wise of them to choose to be elsewhere when they do.  

Church was uneventful.  You would think I would be grateful for that but I can't help but think that a mishap at church that included a moving of the Spirit would be able to alter the spirit I am presently influenced by.  When we got home I threw some nachos in the oven the girls poured a bowl of cold cereal and my husband went to bed.  I started this blog and am presently eating burnt nachos looking across the room at one of the reasons I choose to remain sane.  I included a picture.