It is Sunday, and I am sad.
I wake up. Big G throws a fit because he wants a toy for peeing in the potty. That’s not how it works, I tell him. You must earn quarters and buy your toys. He is angry and hides behind the door. I tell him if he doesn’t flush the toilet, put on a pull-up, and wash his hands, he won’t get a good boy point.
He continues sulking.
I flush the toilet, which triggers an apoplectic fit in my 4-year-old. He hits me.
I am angry.
I finish typing the bulletin for church, throw on a skirt, and rush over to the chapel to make copies. I see people from my congregation. We smile and wave. They ask how I’m doing, and I tell them I’m great.
I am lying.
I drive home and help dress the boys for church. I put diapers and wipes in a bag, pick out some books and toys. I take pictures of Little G because he’s wearing a tie for the first time and I am swooning at the cuteness of it all.
It is time to go. Past time, really, because church started 15 minutes ago. Car picks up his bag and walks out the door. Big G says he wants to ride with me. Mommy isn’t going to church, I tell him. He asks why. Mommy doesn’t feel good, I say, but you will have a good time at Primary.
Car pauses and says he didn’t realize I wasn’t going. I ask him if he sees how I look, even though I know he doesn’t see anything wrong. I tell him I haven’t showered. I can tell he feels bad for me, but he walks out the door and takes the children to church. It’s all he can do right now.
I know God doesn’t care if I shower or not. I know my friends at church won’t care as long as I’m there (and there’s no detectable stench). I know my husband and children will miss me sitting next to them.
But it is Sunday, and I am sad.