Get Me To The Church On Time

Sunday mornings are for church.  But getting ready for church?  Always a total fiasco.  Between babies, breakfast, and lots of boys, getting our crew up and dressed in something other than stained t-shirts and shorts with 2 matching shoes is always a struggle.  For your reading pleasure, I've summarized our average Sunday morning, because I love to make other people feel better about themselves.  And while I've condensed events into one Sunday, know that all of these things have occurred at some point in time on a Sunday morning.   

Sunday morning begins with waking up late.  The baby was supposed to be my alarm clock, but this morning she decided to sleep in.  It's already 7:30 am.  I want to leave for church at 9 am.  In my mind, we are always going to leave at 9 am, but we all know at this point, no one is ever getting out of this house until 9:30 on a Sunday morning, so I should just stop pretending.  2 hours until departure.

I've fed the baby, and laid her back down.  She might go back to sleep, she might just lay in there and babble, but it doesn't matter because I've got to get to the barn.  Sometimes, I'll make the boys milk on Sunday mornings, but because I'm the fastest milker, I just go ahead and do it this morning.  Plus, we were busy last night and no one has had a bath.  I give two boys directions to the shower.  "Be done by the time I get back, OR ELSE!"  Greg is still sleeping. I decide to let him keep sleeping since he gets up way before me during the week. Now it's 8 am.  1 1/2 hours until departure.

It's Sunday morning, so something will go wrong.  When the boys do the milking, they dump milk into a 5-gallon bucket for the pigs, but they aren't strong enough to carry it down to their pen.  So after I milk 2 goats and fill my pail, I dump it into the bucket and head for the pig pen.  But, someone who is 6 and shall remain nameless, obviously forgot to feed them last night, because they are hollering to beat the band, which means they are starving.  I quickly scoop some feed into a bucket and throw it in.  However, they've seen my big bucket of milk.  This is a treat they will not be denied.  They stand hungrily at the gate awaiting the milk.  Before they first drop hits their feeder, they are fighting and screaming.  4 pig snouts cover the trough, leaving me no choice but to pour it over their heads.  They immediately shake themselves off, like a wet dog, leaving me covered in day old milk and hog manure.  I grab the hose and at least get my legs and feet washed off, because in my haste to get chores done, I threw on some flip-flops instead of trying to find clean socks to wear with my boots.  I give them the rest of their feed, and then check on our buck goat to make sure he got fed and watered last night.  He seems fine and content, so I head back up to the big barn to finish milking the other three goats.  Finally, it's time to head back to the house.  What should have taken 20 minutes, took 30 because of those annoying pigs.  It's now 8:30. 1 hour until departure. 

Upon arriving at the house, 1 boy is showered and fully dressed.  The other is still sitting in the bathtub, playing with toys, getting water all over the bathroom, and wasting all the hot water by constantly draining and re-filling the tub.  The other 2 boys are watching TV.  Boston has woken up, and one of the boys gave him a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of milk.  Thank goodness they put it in his sippy cup.  At least Haven went back to sleep, because there's no sound coming from her.  Or Greg either.  He's still asleep, so I wake him up.  He has a few last minute touches to his Sunday School lesson, so he begins work on that.  I change my milk and pig manure covered shirt, because I have to cook breakfast.  Boy #2 is finally out of the shower, but sitting naked in the living room, covered in a towel and shivering.  "Please go get dressed!"  I send boys 3 and 4 to the bathtub.  I put a skillet on the stove and start warming it up.  (In the name of full disclosure, I probably have to wash it first, because I cooked supper in it, and went to bed with a sink full of dirty dishes.  Why is the house always a disaster on Sunday?)  It's scrambled eggs and toast, because that's quick, easy, and filling.  Breakfast is finally ready, boys #3 and #4 are out of the shower and dressed.  
"Deacon, you cannot wear shorts and a tank top.  It's Sunday!  Go change your clothes!"  
"Boys it's breakfast time!" 
It's now 8:50 am.  40 minutes until departure. 

Since Boston already ate a peanut butter sandwich, I scoop him up to get him dressed.  First, I have to wash all the peanut butter off of him.  I debate whether he has time for a bath.  I decide he has time for a quick bath, so I get him in the tub, barely putting an inch of water in it before I start scrubbing him down, because hey, I've only got 2 minutes to get this done.  My shirt and pants are now completely covered in water, because of the huge puddle left by the other boys, and I'm fighting a slippery, wet 2 -year old who doesn't want to get out of the bath.  "Boys, did you brush your teeth?"  I get Boston into our bedroom and get him dressed, shoes and all.  He is ready to go.  I return to the kitchen to find only 2 boys have actually eaten breakfast.  "Deacon, Lincoln, get back in here and finish your food.  You have 5 minutes to eat!"  We all know we're going to be here much longer than 5 minutes, but a girl can dream, right?  "Boys, put on your shoes so you're ready to go.  Find your Bibles."  It is now 9:05 am.  Only 25 minutes until departure.

All dressed up for Haven's first Sunday at church

Now Haven is awake again.  I go in her room to get her.  Greg has now finished his Sunday School lesson and is taking a shower.  I hear him yell, "Where are the towels?"  The boys left all the wet towels upstairs after their baths.  So I ask Gideon to go get Dad one.  I take Haven into our bedroom to get her dressed.  She's completely soaked, because when she ate at 7:30, I forgot to change her diaper.  I wipe her down (because there's no time for her to get a bath today), and get her dressed, then buckle her in her car seat so she's ready to go.  Gideon brings me a soaking wet towel.  I crack open the bathroom door and hand it to Greg, apologizing for the fact he has to dry with a someone's soggy, second-hand towel.   "Boys, put on your shoes!"  I have no idea what time it is.  But I should probably take a shower.  

Greg is now ready and trying to hurry everyone along by reminding boys to put on their shoes and get their Bibles.  "Get in the van and buckle up.  Gideon, please buckle up Boston."  Greg starts to gather the diaper bag, the computer, his Bible and Sunday School materials and the little children.  I am taking the world's fastest shower, trying to remember if I washed my hair yesterday?  Or was it 2 days ago?  Anyway, it looks good enough to avoid washing it this morning.  I pick out my clothes, pausing for a moment to consider my outfit.  Did I wear this last week?  Can I nurse in this without having to lift my dress over my head?  Where is my other shoe?  Greg carries Haven out to get her in the car.   I'm dressed, everything's gathered, I grab my hair things so I can do my hair in the car, and get in the van.  "Mom, Deacon's not wearing shoes!"  "Deacon, why aren't you wearing shoes?"  "I couldn't find any"  So, I run (literally) to the side door where our laundry room is.  Of course, there are shoes everywhere, and trying to find two that match AND fit Deacon is like a Where's Waldo? book on speed.  I finally find two shoes and dash back to the van.  I chuck them at Deacon, shut all the doors, and hop in my seat.   It's 9:35 am.  Wasn't it just 9:05 a few seconds ago?  We're halfway down the lane.  "Is everyone here?"


I do my hair with one hair band and the only 2 bobby pins I could find in the house, all while using the 3x5 inch mirror in the visor.  It's like a MacGyver episode, but with hair. My goal isn't a professional hair-do here, it's just get it good enough to make it look like I haven't done my hair in the car every Sunday morning since Lincoln was born.  We slink into church at 9:50.  Sunday school is supposed to start at 9:45.  I see that Lincoln's pants are 3 inches too short for him and Canaan's collar is half up and half down.  Gideon didn't brush his hair, and despite me breaking into a sweat searching for Deacon's shoes, he's wearing his 2-sizes-too-small flip-flops that he found under his seat, and they're on the wrong feet.  Oh well.


We made it.  Almost on time.  Can I get an Amen?