14 Months and Why I am a Killjoy
Lucas is 14 months old today. He is officially walking, and I feel like I need to tape record myself telling him "no" because it is all I seem to be doing lately:
"Don't stick your hands in the dog's water dish."
"Don't lick the cat's tail."
"Don't spit out your food."
"Don't cram that last two inches of banana in your mouth."
"You will not act this way in God's house." This is usually done with a hiss of hot breath in his ear as he tries to wreak havoc in the back pew.
"Stop sticking your finger in your nose."
"Don't poke the dog in the eye."
"Don't lick my hair."
"Don't bite me."
This morning I was sitting in the back pew, and as it was a communion Sunday, Lucas's babysitter came back and sat with him so I could take the sacrament without him clinging to my hip and trying to stick his finger's in our Lord and Saviour's body and blood. She sat next to me, and since he is going through the stage that if I put him down for a nanosecond he goes into full conniption mode, he refused to let her hold him. Instead he kept reaching out to touch the hair of a visitor in front of us. Given that her hair is to her waist and long, and shimmering, and just beckoning to be stroked, Lucas stuck his paw out to touch it. I took his hand and put it firmly in his lap and told him, "NO." So, he tried again, thinking I would not notice. Again, I took his hand, placed it firmly in his lap, and said, "I said NO." This time the hot breath came in his ear; I felt the spirit of my mother descend upon me, and his lip quivered and poked out, just like I used to do when I didn't get my way. Then my mother really took hold of me, "That's right, poke it out REALLY far. I think you are going to step on it." It quivered for about 8 seconds and then he was distracted by the pretty blonde sitting behind us. At least he was distracted until I passed him off so I could go up the altar. His screaming pretty much distracted me for the entire sacrament. We could have gone into the nursery, but I am a firm believer in not using the nursery, because, hey, it is full of toys and FUN, and well, given a choice between playing with some blocks or sitting in the back of the church, YOU ARE SITTING IN CHURCH. I never had that choice when I was growing up, and on more than one occasion I was introduced to my mother's hot breath when I was not cooperating. I feel bad enough letting him have a sippy and some cookie during the service, but it allows me some peace, allows me to hear part of the service, and keeps him from pointing up the altar and screeching, "Hi, Daddy!"
"Don't stick your hands in the dog's water dish."
"Don't lick the cat's tail."
"Don't spit out your food."
"Don't cram that last two inches of banana in your mouth."
"You will not act this way in God's house." This is usually done with a hiss of hot breath in his ear as he tries to wreak havoc in the back pew.
"Stop sticking your finger in your nose."
"Don't poke the dog in the eye."
"Don't lick my hair."
"Don't bite me."
This morning I was sitting in the back pew, and as it was a communion Sunday, Lucas's babysitter came back and sat with him so I could take the sacrament without him clinging to my hip and trying to stick his finger's in our Lord and Saviour's body and blood. She sat next to me, and since he is going through the stage that if I put him down for a nanosecond he goes into full conniption mode, he refused to let her hold him. Instead he kept reaching out to touch the hair of a visitor in front of us. Given that her hair is to her waist and long, and shimmering, and just beckoning to be stroked, Lucas stuck his paw out to touch it. I took his hand and put it firmly in his lap and told him, "NO." So, he tried again, thinking I would not notice. Again, I took his hand, placed it firmly in his lap, and said, "I said NO." This time the hot breath came in his ear; I felt the spirit of my mother descend upon me, and his lip quivered and poked out, just like I used to do when I didn't get my way. Then my mother really took hold of me, "That's right, poke it out REALLY far. I think you are going to step on it." It quivered for about 8 seconds and then he was distracted by the pretty blonde sitting behind us. At least he was distracted until I passed him off so I could go up the altar. His screaming pretty much distracted me for the entire sacrament. We could have gone into the nursery, but I am a firm believer in not using the nursery, because, hey, it is full of toys and FUN, and well, given a choice between playing with some blocks or sitting in the back of the church, YOU ARE SITTING IN CHURCH. I never had that choice when I was growing up, and on more than one occasion I was introduced to my mother's hot breath when I was not cooperating. I feel bad enough letting him have a sippy and some cookie during the service, but it allows me some peace, allows me to hear part of the service, and keeps him from pointing up the altar and screeching, "Hi, Daddy!"
posted by pastorschick at
12:58 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home