I love my family. I love spending time with them. I absolutely hate the entire “holiday hoopla” that surrounds many gatherings of the entire family. Luckily, Easter is a relatively small holiday in the sense that we pick one segment of the family to celebrate with and don’t worry about the others.
Today, we woke up early. Khaila found her Easter basket, played with her new Playdoh, and enjoyed the first course of Easter breakfast, Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs. By 9:00, I went in to wake up my husband, the man who hates to get up and can’t shower without sitting down “just in case” he has to do his morning business (I’ll never understand this, I KNOW when I have to go to the bathroom, there’s no “just in case”) . I start course two of breakfast, blueberry muffins.
Somehow, all of my pantyhose are wrecked, runs, rips, etc. Where do you buy pantyhose in a town of 5,000 on Easter morning? I leave Rick to start getting ready and keep an eye on Khaila while I run to the gas station, praying they have something. They don’t. Next, I’m off to the grocery store. SCORE! An entire wall of pantyhose!!!! I get in line and my drunk neighbor (well, not drunk at 9:30 in the morning, she was on her morning beer run) is in front of me. Luckily, she lets me go ahead of her since I have two things and she has a six pack of beer, three cases of soda, and munchies. I truly think everyone who hosted Easter at their house was in the store this morning.
I get home to find an un-showered husband, a toddler having a meltdown because she has to put away the Playdoh, and a stain on the shirt that I’m sure I checked last night. Yes, I was going to wear my new dress, but that’s a completely different story. I get Khaila dressed, fight her tooth and nail on doing her hair (“Mommy, I don’t WANT pretties!!!”), start dressing myself as Rick finally gets in the shower. By this point, I don’t care if he has plenty of time to get ready and go one block to the church, I’m ticked! I’m muttering under my breath about how we’re always late to everything and I just can’t deal with this again.
Then it happens, Khaila’s shoe is missing! I know I checked the closet yesterday and they were both there. I’m sure that girl has some super-top-secret shoe hiding place and in a few years, I’ll find all the missing shoes! It’s 10:18 and we are supposed to be at the church by 10:30. I’m frantic, crying, “How can I be a good mother if I can’t even find a damned shoe???” as I run through the house throwing every toy out of her toybox, opening and closing every drawer. At 10:29, I find the shoe. It’s on the dining room table! Why didn’t I think to look for a dress shoe on the table before now? Isn’t that where they belong??
We get to church at 10:42, three minutes to spare before Pastor Jo begins. To get to the sanctuary, we had to walk up the choir-lined stairwell. My daughter is the sweetheart of the choir thanks to being Nana’s frequent companion on Sunday mornings. Then Khaila sees her Nana. Why on earth didn’t I sneak up the other stairwell? Now I am wrestling a wiggling, whining toddler past her Nana, certain that I’ve achieved “bad mommy” status for the morning.
Church starts. Pastor Jo begins from the back of the sanctuary instead of from the altar. Khaila sees her and feels the need to tell everyone where she is. The choir comes in. Have I mentioned my daughter’s special status with the choir? As they walk past, she reaches out to Nana as if to say, “Save me, take me with you!”
With the exception of Khaila wanting to flirt with one of the choir members during the Children’s sermon, the rest of church was uneventful.
After church it was time for dinner at Old Country Buffet. We knew it was a bad sign when the parking lot was full and the line was out the door. We stood outside for about 20 minutes, about 15 more inside waiting to be seated. Many, many meltdowns while we waited. She knew there was food inside and the evil adults wouldn’t let her have any. She wanted to walk, no, she wanted to get up, no, not daddy, she wanted mommy. “No, mommy’s no good, want Pop-Pop, no, he won’t let me run, want Nana. Nana won’t let me run, maybe Natey will.” I was praying for hard liquor by the time we could see the front of the line.
Daddy loaded up a plate with all of her favorite foods. She wanted NONE of them. Finally, she ate a roll off my plate. Then the potatoes off my plate. Then she wanted peaches. The ONE buffet in the world with no canned peaches, and we’re having a toddler meltdown. It was after naptime, she was overstimulated and made sure everyone knew! God bless Nana for taking her back to great grandma’s house so we could finish eating in peace and she could sleep.
I really do love my family. I love my daughter. I just can’t wait until she’s old enough to get through one holiday without melting down!