It is a beautiful Sunday morning. I am dressed and ready for church.
It has been a relaxing, lovely day so far. Time to get my son dressed and out the door. I walk down the hall and glance into his bathroom. I see poop all over the floor, from top of the the toilet, down the bathroom floor, out of the bathroom and down the white-carpeted hallway. Do I say anything about the poop? No.
I say, “We are going to church,” in a loud, firm voice. Then I remove the sweater over my dress, and get out the disinfectant bathroom cleaner and begin the task of cleaning partially-dried excrement off of the toilet and the bathroom floor until the bathroom sparkles. I check the time. Church has started. I complete more work. The time when I was supposed to read the lessons has come and gone but the bathroom is shining clean.
I repeat. “We are going to church,” and I know that my son has heard this for a second time.
I get the special carpet cleaner. As our dog sniffs, I soak the rug and begin scrubbing. I continue over every area with great determination. My son stands near me. I repeat: “We are going to church.” By now, I wonder if my hubby is worried that something terrible has happened.
I finish. I wash my hands. I forget to use hand lotion. I look at the clock again. Will we make it there for Communion? We will go anyway.
“We are going to church.” My son knows this by now and is sitting in the kitchen, waiting to leave. I instruct him to go to his bedroom and I help him dress. I am calm on the outside as I dress him, then tread carefully over the wet spots on the rug as I re-dress then get to the car.
We made it exactly in time for Communion. I am pleased and proud.
The boy didn’t get out of going to church. That’s 1 for the Mom, 0 for the boy. However, he did enjoy the jalapeno bread served at the soup supper after the service!