Weak and simple

"I hate Sundays." I matter-of-factly told Chris this morning, as we walked across the road to head to church.

That sentence actually broke my silence I had made, since I told Chris to, "Stop talking. I don't want to talk about it. Just stop!" as he stood outside the bathroom, dumb-founded, staring at me, with the look of utter confusion on his face. I wanted to scream "I'M NOT CRAZY!" in response to his blank stare, but figured that would only solidify the situation.

My morning started off great! It was around 8:00 AM, when rolled out of bed and decided I should go see if J was awake. Low and behold he was, cheerful as can be. He started jumping up and down, laughing, when I burst into his room---the appropriate response I was looking for. This was going to be a good day! I could just feel it.

He actually ate the oatmeal I made him for breakfast. Check. Another point on the "good day" scale. He downed the fried egg I made him, too. When I went into the kitchen to see what I could scrounge up, I remembered that I had already took note of the "bare" kitchen situation on our hands while making the small human his morning grub. I didn't want fry up the last two eggs sitting in the carton, because I figured Chris might be hungry when he got back from his meetings. The milk was ALL gone (how does this happen??), so I wouldn't be having cereal. Oatmeal is reserved for the small human, who ironically enough, was actually eating it this morning instead of protesting.

I wandered back into the front room, where said-human was now throwing spoon fulls of oatmeal all over the room. Awesome. At least he ate some of the oatmeal, right? Quickly I started cleaning up his mess, telling him that you don't throw food. I got him out of his high chair, and handed him a rag. We started cleaning the carpet (urgh... I hate that he has to eat over carpet) together.

As I stripped him down out of his pajamas, some how the contents that were supposed to be inside his diaper, smeared across my lap. Bummer.

Sigh. No biggie. I hurry and throw on other bottoms, and whisk him away to the diaper changing station. He actually cooperated, and held still long enough for me take care of the oozing diaper. Thank you son.

Time to put on clothes. Right. Like clothing an insane gorilla would be any easier. Like his father, he agrees his best outfit is his birthday suit. I try to ignore his unwillingness to help, and prop him down in front of the mirror in his room to accomplish my task. This distracts him for a little bit while I put on his church shirt and tie, as he talks to the little boy in the mirror, waving, and clapping. Once he realizes I have successfully 1/2 dressed him, he remembers that he is not supposed to cooperate with me. So, putting on his pants was interesting. I'm bigger than him, so I eventually win.

Socks. Hmmm... There is going to be no easy way to do this. As I assess the situation, I can only think: quick and painless? Just go for it. It didn't work out as planned, but whatever. He got his socks on. After I stand him up to inspect himself in the mirror, he starts panicking that he has pants on. Again, thank you Chris for passing on the hatred-of-pants to our Son. He starts pulling on the legs, all frantic like.

Ignoring his almost-break down, I tell him to go to the bathroom so we can comb his hair, and brush his teeth. He obliges with me following quickly on his tail. Once we get to the bathroom he starts grabbing all that his grimy hands can, as quickly as possible. I swoop him onto my lap to complete our morning hygiene session. Of course he only wants to stick the hair spray bottle in his mouth, and chucks the baby brush I give him instead. Fine. We battle.

I somehow get him pinned on my lap long enough to get the tooth brush in and out of his mouth, and I'm trying to sing some made-up song about "J is brushing his teeth" yadda yadda yadda to distract him. I sit him up, and try to comb his hair so he looks less homeless. A spray of hair spray (first time---ever. I'm sick of his hair being all sweaty and nasty at church. I figured it would look more reverent) only re-ignites his desire to stick all things-nasty into his mouth.

We hurry and leave the bathroom, back to the front room so I can get him completely clothed. We track down his shoes, and I place them on his feet without any battle. He actually really likes to put shoes on generally, because it means it's time to go somewhere. He jumps off my lap, and does his happy-shoe-dance. I smile.

Time to clean up the kitchen. As I finish the last dish in the sink, I turn around to see J really excited about the carton of eggs he some how managed to pull down from the counter, and the smashed eggs he was smearing on the floor. How did this happen? My back was turned for 1.2 minutes, and he was directly behind me in our cracker-box-size kitchen. I was even talking to him as I cleaned the dishes. Dang it.

I laughed. Really, I did. At this point, this morning was two steps forward, one really large step back. I pick him up, and set him down in the front room on the stupid carpet. Hey idiot, why didn't you think to wash off his shoes before you put him down? Of course once I put him down, little boy shoe prints of egg are now traced into my carpet. Oh gosh.

As I just stood watching, eventually his foot prints left no sign of egg. Good, the carpet just cleaned the egg right off. PAH! So, back to the kitchen. Clean up the floor. Check. Clean up the carpet, for the second time this morning. Check.

Ok, time for me to get dressed.

Just in time, Chris walks in the front door. He sees the clean house, and the clean child. He is impressed, and is totally clueless about the circus this morning. Me, not so much. I throw on the first skirt my hands touch, and look for a shirt that could match some how. Got it. Then I run into the bathroom, and realize there is 5 minutes before Chris' church starts. "Hey, so are you teaching the first hour, or can you take J, while I try to get ready?" I yell to him from the bathroom. He misunderstood what I said, and all I hear in reply is something along the lines of, "No, but I have to go...".

That just killed me. I knew I could not get ready in five minutes, and even more so, I knew I could not get ready if he really had to go, leaving me with the mess-maker baby. That's when I freaked out. I didn't know that what he really said was, "No, I'm not teaching. What if I just take J now so you can get ready, and I will keep him the first hour. We'll just go!" Hmmmm. Totally lost in translation.

Anyway, as I'm pouting-running about the house still trying to get ready, I end up telling Chris further into our conversation, "No, don't take J. If you take him, I will be really mad! Just go, and I will take him. Leave him here with me, and I will get ready, you just leave!" Chris was so confused. I was just over-whelmed.

Of course Chris stayed, and watched J while I got ready. Of course J was in his stroller, all things church related, packed and ready to go, once I appeared in the front room from the disarray of madness in the bedroom/bathroom area of our house. He is my "good side". Before he lets us leave (and yes, we are late at this point, obviously), he stops and says, "Ok J, fold your arms. We are going to say a prayer before we leave," since he was instructed to no longer speak to me this morning...

I was irritated.

He was proving a point.

Relief Society starts, and it's not long before J is out in the hallway. The kid finds an open door as a free invitation to, "Run. Run fast, boy!" and so he does. I stand in the door way to Relief Society, half way in, half way out, so I can hear the lesson and watch the escape artist run wild outside. My patience to make him sit on my lap, and be reverent during the hour, have slowly dissolved. All things with J and reverence are reserved for Sacrament Meeting these days. Can't win 'em all, right?

Chris' must have heard J squealing with delight, and soon appears out of the room where next to ours. "Do you want me to take him?" he asks me, ever so sweetly. I break my silence vow of silence for the second time this morning, and just melt into his open arms. I'm doing that, half crying/half laughing thing I usually do when I realize I have been absurd, yet I'm still passionate about the way I feel.

I tell him that Sundays are hard for me. He leaves early in the morning for meetings, and some how between the hour J wakes up, and the time we are expected to be at church, all things perfect are supposed to occur. I tell him that I know together we can do anything, but when I'm left without him, I see how incapable I am. I know this calling is one that he is far capable of, but I can't figure out why or how anyone would ever think this is something I could do with energy-packed J, and new baby on the way; which just starts a whole new cycle of feeling inadequate, because I want to be the power-wife that can do it all, and not hold back her husband. With tears I'm telling him I try to get everything done, and I give it my all, still failing in one way or another. I can't do it all, and every Sunday it's just re-affirmed to me, again, that yes, I am not perfect.

Relief Society and Sunday School proceed, and J and I are eventually sitting together looking at Chris on the stand during Sacrament meeting the third hour of church. We take the Sacrament, I explain to J about Jesus, a couple speakers give their words of wisdom, songs are sung. The High Counsel speaker stands up and starts talking. In between finding what will keep J occupied for the next 15 seconds, I am able to listen to the speaker in-and-out. J gets restless, and I grab the next thing to occupy him for the next 15 seconds. Then I listen. This goes on for a while, until J is ready to burst. I stand up in the corner, rocking my baby, and in another chunk of time, he is passed out asleep in my arms. I stand for a little bit, still trying to listen to the speaker, and not wanting to wake the sleeping giant.

Once I think he is really out, I contently crouch back down into my seat. He's talking about world travel...my mind wonders. He's talking about missions... my mind wanders. He's talking about a group of Marines on a plane... my mind wanders. Then I really focus. He is telling a story about a missionary going home, surrounded by a group of Marines, when he is asked to say a prayer for the Marines. When the plane lands, he gets out of his seat and kneels down in the row, and offers a prayer for the Marines.

His actual story was insignificant. What hit me like a ton of bricks is not. "The Lord works with the WEAK AND SIMPLE. He did not send an army to slay Goliath. He sent David. He does not send learned-scholars to preach the gospel, he sends young 19 year old boys. By the weak and simple, miracles occur. His work is done through the weak and simple."

And that I am.

It was only hours before I was overwhelmed with how weak I was; how I could not do it all. My mind traced back my chaotic morning, and all the things that went wrong. I felt like I was failing without Chris---he has always been placed on a pedistal in my mind, so strong and extraordinary. Not me. I am weak and simple. Then at that moment, my very own Heavenly Father encompassed me with his love; not to tell me, "Yes, you are perfect!" or anything of the sort. But actually saying, "Yes, you are right. You are weak. You are simple. However, that is not an accident... 'And through you, miracles will occur. My work is done through you'..."

And then I cried.