Monday marked the beginning of our Christmas vacation. We homeschool 10 weeks on, 2 weeks off, with the months of June and December off as well. We’re halfway through our homeschool year.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Monday also marked the end of our homeschool co-op of classes. And to celebrate, our group held a Recital, of sorts. A chance for all the children to show off some of the skills that they’ve acquired over the last few months.
The Recital was to take place at 11:15 in the sanctuary of the church that so graciously allows us to take over their facility once a week. Fiddledaddy came with the video camera to capture the festivities. That meant that my job was to wrangle Jensen. Since that didn’t involve anything technical. With buttons.
If I had my head screwed on straight, I would have fled immediately, with Jensen in tow, as soon as Fiddledaddy arrived in the parking lot.
But no. I had grand ideas of sitting with my little family, silently watching my children perform.
Clearly, breastfeeding did indeed relieve me of much needed brain cells.
Almost immediately, Jensen began squawking. And writhing, as though he were in the throws of torture. I thought I’d just leave for a little while to feed him a snack. I left my purse in the sanctuary. The purse that contained my keys and cell phone. In case I wanted to call, say, Fiddledaddy, to tell him to bring me said purse so I could make a break for it. The snack did little to help my young soldier. He squirmed, screamed, and kicked while I held him in the foyer outside of the sanctuary. Have I mentioned lately that he weighs FORTY pounds? Any time I lost my mind and put him down, he made a break for the double glass doors leading into the parking lot. While screaming “HOME momma, HOME.”
So, I wrestled him out in the foyer with the other half dozen moms in a similar situation, but with much lighter children. One mom was in tears she was having such a difficult day. I patted her on the arm and assured her that we’ve all been there. Some of us have been there, and not left.
In the mean time, I pressed my face up to the glass to catch a glimpse of my girls performing. Cailey danced with her Worship Dance class, and Emme showed off her Karate maneuvers with her class. Then came time for the Guitar Class solos. Which both of my girls were participating in.
Suddenly, being out in the foyer wasn’t so bad. I can say that because all semester I had been a teacher’s aide in that class. During rehearsal, the class attempted to play their “Jingle Bells” number all together. But it was such an assault to the senses that it was determined the class members who wanted to play, would perform a solo. And so far, no student could plink plink plink their way through “Jingle Bells” in less than 5 minutes.
I was pretty sure that more than a few ears were bleeding during that performance.
FINALLY, there was enough of a lull, that I thought I could sneak in, undetected, grab my purse, and run away as though I were ablaze.
I tucked Jensen under my sweaty armpit, football style, and made a mad dash down the aisle while all was silent in the Sanctuary, waiting for the next performance to begin. My plan was well executed, until Jensen caught sight of the rest of his family sitting in the pew. He screamed loud enough to rouse the dead. All heads turned toward us as my 2 year old had me pinned to the floor in a desperate struggle to free himself from my grasp. I was breathless, sweating, and very near tears when I grabbed my purse, Jensen, and what was left of my dignity and made like a bat out of a hot place.
Jensen screamed the entire path to the van. But I didn’t care. Escape was imminent. Or was it? We all park our vans in the grass facing the same direction. But my van was dead center. I appeared to be trapped. In my desperation to flee, I decided that if I had to dent a few vehicles to get out, my insurance company would certainly understand. My own little game of bumper cars. And in my mind, I thought of the end of the movie “Grease” where John Travolta and Olivia Newton John got in their car and off it flew into the sunset.
If only life were more like the movies. And I could look like Sandy in those tight black leather pants.
But I digress.
With daring agility, that surprised even me, I was able to maneuver the mommy mobile out of that maze of cars, over a sidewalk, and straight to freedom. With nary a dent. All while Jensen screamed obscenities at the back of my head. Okay, maybe the obscenities were coming from within my head. But still.
It’s just a season, I repeat over and over. Willing myself to believe it. Soon, I’ll be on the other side of this season, wondering what I was complaining about. Wishing my children were small again. But that could mean the onset of senility.
I’m just going to try and enjoy this season of motherhood. The one that I’m in. As I search deeply for the humor in all situations. While thanking God for my many blessings.
And I’ll just keep reminding myself that in all things, it coulda’ been worse. It always coulda’ been worse.