My kids were being just terrible last weekend. They would not obey, they were disrepectful, they were just down right buttheads.
Sunday morning, as I was about to get into the shower, I asked them to please get ready quickly, because I had to speak first thing at church, and I could NOT be late. I suggested what they might wear and said I would do something with their hair.
They seemed to hear me. They are intelligent children.
Well, sure enough, 30 minutes later, as I came out into the living room dressed and ready to go -- expecting everyone else to be ready to go as well -- there they were.
In their pajamas.
On the sofa.
I went directly to the kitchen counter where I grabbed a wooden spoon, turned on my heel, came right back to the sofa and spatted them quickly telling them as calmly as I could that it was time they learned to obey and think of others.
Then I said to my husband, "You deal with the little turds. I'm going to church!"
Then I left.
I prayed all the way to church that God would help me calm down and be in the right frame of mind to worship.
Just as I was finishing up my part in the beginning of the church service, I saw the three of them slinking into the back of the room. The girls looked like ragamuffins, with ratty hair and mismatched clothes. Jamie looked exhausted.
I grabbed my stuff and headed to sit with them in the back row as another song started. Caroline (9) came up to me and said, "Mom, I'm really sorry about how I acted last night and I'm sorry I didn't mind you this morning. I will be better."
Aw, my sweet little girl.
I hugged her and said that I appreciated that and that I accepted her apology. We were smiling and happy.
Then Eliza, my 5-year-old, said, "Mom, pretend like I said that."