UnHoly Sabbath Day

Normally, I wake up every morning before 6:00 a.m, with or without an alarm, weekend or weekday, usually bright eyed and bushy tailed. Today, I didn't. I forced myself up at 8:20 a.m, when I realized I had to get Kate from her dad's house, finish preparing sharing time, and get ready for a 9:00 a.m. Sacrament Meeting. I was tired. It was cold. I was comfy under the covers and it was not at all fair that on the one day I didn't want to get up, I had to. Anger and resentment coursed through me. I was ticked off.

Could I deal with it? Could I follow all the great advice about taking a deep breath, stopping a moment to breathe, saying a prayer, starting my day over? Not on your life. Not only no, but hell no! I was miserable and armed with determination to stay that way.

Kate dared not breathe a word on the wayback from her dad's house. I caught her stealing glances at me, but sent her silent body language messages saying, "Don't say a single word...especially if you're going to be cheerful."

Sacrament meeting was long, and I was annoyed by the French speaker and his interpreter. Two-year old Mimi sat in front of us and kept looking back and smiling at me. It's irritating to have to smile at a toddler when you just want to stew in resentment. I thought the talk on food storage was targeted at me and the stake counselor was admonishing me for my lack of preparation.

Now, onto Sunday school. I'd planned a riveting role playing activity (all in accordance with the written Church guidance) where the children could act out a Book of Mormon story -- the one about Abinadi. I'd gathered robes and ropes, make crowns of gold and a thrown for wicked King Noah.

We did this for both junior and senior primary. The King Noahs ended up being the most angelic of girls and had a hard time being wicked. The first Abinadi caved in the second King Noah asked him to recant his testimony. Then he burst into tears as the guards tied him up in preparation for his burning death. The second Abinadi did some rather impressive karate moves on the unsuspecting guards and then yelled, "Gotcha!" to King Noah as he tore out of the room. King Noah then through his gold crown and the guards started hitting each other with their cardboard swords. I completely forgot about poor Alma (who "ran away" into the far corner of the room to escape the wicked priests) until we were singing the closing hymn.

My irritation stretched into a total "ticked off" state and I looked forward to a lazy Sunday afternoon since the kids were at their dads. That's when Kate told me that since she'd be here tonight, she'd rather just come home with me.

Okay, now I did say a prayer asking for a little grace, a smidgen of gratitude. (After all, I am a blessed woman whose teenagers still hug me and tell me they love me.) Inspiration came: make waffles for lunch! Done. Kate and I quickly downed the waffles and then came -- the sugar coma. Lethargy settled in as all the energy I exerted being angry finally wore me out. I snuggled up on the couch to take rare afternoon nap.

Apparently, Darryl is not yet adept at reading the obvious body language of DO NOT DISTURB. He woke me up to ask me where I put the wet dry vac (the same one that had the wolf stuck in it in my dream of a few nights ago). You would have thought I was the wolf as I woke up startled and yelled "Shut up!" But, he was persistent. Not only did he want to know where the machine was, he wanted me to tell him how to change the filter.

Just as I settled back down, the door burst open and David and John came in. And, of all the rare, rare, rare occurrences, David was in a chatty mood. Honestly! I grumped and pouted until he told me to stop being so "emo". He suggested I go to the library or to the basement if I didn't want to be disturbed. Hey, doesn't he know this is MY Sunday? This was supposed to be my day to "rest" and get revitalized? This was the day I'd carved out for some alone time? This is my house, after all. What are these other people doing here? Oh, that's right. This is my family. Real parents don't get every other weekend off. Real parents don't have kids going to a different house every other night. Real parents share all of their house and space. Guess I've lost perspective over the last ten years.

So now I sit amidst a pile of Book of Mormon costumes feeling guilty about not having a food supply. I'm also not feeling inclined toward having family prayer or reading my scriptures today. I think I'll top off this most unholy of Sabbaths by steam cleaning the dining room and then settling down with a nice cold Diet Coke. Some Sundays are just like that.