No pants allowed

On Sunday morning I wake up before everyone else.  I shower, shave my legs, wax my face, moisturize my face, put makeup on my face, do my hair, get dressed, iron pants for 2 little boys, iron white shirts for 2 little boys, find pretty-close-to-matching pairs of socks for 2 little boys, find little man ties for two little boys, make breakfast for 2 little boys and (sometimes one little girl... she's pretty independent, that is to say "picky" and she complains a lot less if she is her own chef), curl and fix my daughter's hair (she has really beautiful hair, especially when she lets me comb it), force two little boys into white shirts and little man ties (which, as you know, is my favorite piece of little man clothing, but which they believe is essentially wearing a noose for Jesus.) 

Then it's: gather all the scriptures, (which no one can ever find), gather the shoes (which no one can ever find), and gather the keys (which no one can ever find).  I suppose I could get everything ready the night before, but that seems a little subversive to me, and not at all something that should be associated with the Sabbath.  Much better to be yelling at everyone "GET. IN. THE. CAR. NOW. WE. HAVE. TO. TAKE. THE. SACRAMENT." 

Recently added to my list of Sunday morning awesomeness is "pack a sack lunch", not a snack, a full on lunch.  A camel I'm not, and it could get ugly fast if I miss a meal, church or no.  So... at some point during the services I head into the mother's lounge (which is where the mom's with nursing babies can go for some privacy and still hear the speakers etc.) with my picnic basket to enjoy my peanut butter and apricot jam sandwich, grapes, carrots, cheese stick, oranges, cookies etc. 

 I choose the mother's lounge for a couple of reasons.  First, I don't have to share my food with my kids or with the kids in the pew in front of me that turn around and give you the Oliver Twist face as soon as they hear the rustle of a wrapper.  Second, I don't have to field any questions or quizzical looks about why I'm chowing down at church.  Women know, if you're eating at church, you're pregnant and you're sick - and they leave you alone. Men on the other hand think it's a good time to strike up a conversation beginning with a very quippy question/statement like "I hope you brought enough to share with me."  Whatever.

So... last week I haul my Mary Poppins church bag full of food into the mother's lounge... and there's a man in there.  I am not kidding.  A man sitting with his wife and baby in the mother's lounge.  As far as I'm concerned this is inexcusable.  It is a kin to a man hanging out in the women's restroom because he wants to be with his lady friend.  (My husband calls me that when he wants to make me gag a little bit.)  I don't care if I'm only in there washing my hands, or putting on my lipstick, or hiding from my kids - if you are a male that is old enough to not need your mom to hold up your tie while you're doing your business - you are in the wrong place and need to get the heck out.  The "get the heck out rule" also applies if

• you are a man and you are sitting next to me while I'm getting a pedicure.  I don't want to see big, hairy, man feet being buffed.  Yuck.
• you are a man and you are in the park (or someplace similar) during the middle of the day without a child of your own.  Creepy... and I will say something to you.
• you are a man and you are anywhere near my favorite makeup counter.  I don't care what MAC says.  I don't want to buy makeup from a boy trying to be prettier than me.

So... does this creepy-mother's-lounge-man-dweller just leave me alone to eat my lunch?  No.  He strikes up a conversation.  It went something like this:

• Creepy-mother's-lounge-man-dweller: "I used to do that"
  
• Annoyed Me:  "What?"  (You have to pretend to hear my annoyed voice in your head.  Also, I did my best "14 year old girl thinking you're lame" face.  That's important when you're annoyed with strange men.)
  
• Creepy-mother's-lounge-man-dweller:  "Hide in corners and eat during church"
• Annoyed Me:  "Why?"  (Again, same voice, same face.)
• Creepy-mother's-lounge-man-dweller: "Because I would get hungry during church and it was embarrassing when people would walk in on me and blah, blah, blah..." I stopped listening.  This is a grown man that needs a baggie of goldfish during church.  I was not impressed.
• Annoyed Me: "I'm pregnant, stupid" (OK, I didn't actually say stupid, but I totally thought it at him and I'm pretty sure he got the message.)  I also looked at his wife and thought "Wow, he's a keeper.  I'm jealous."  I'm not sure that she got the message.

These people finally left when another woman came in and, shocker, wanted to sit down and nurse her baby.  Maybe he was just off to get his goldfish fix.  I just rolled my eyes (I am pretty good at this) and she shook her head and... because I was eating my lunch, and because she was raised right, she didn't speak to me at all.  

There's a late slip in my pants pocket.

I was never late to school when I was a little girl.  Not once.  I always felt sorry for the little kids that sort of tip-toed into class during the Pledge of Allegiance with their heels hanging out of the backs of their sneakers and a cold piece of toast in their hand.  Their hair, as I recall, usually bore a striking resemblance to Albert Einstein's after a night of clubbing with his homies.  Sad.  I always felt bad that they had to face the firing squad made up of the judgey front desk attendance lady and a teacher that could put that kind of stuff down on your permanent record, or worse - put your name on the board... especially since I assumed it was their loser parent's fault.  I mean, what 6 year old gets themself to school?

Well parents of the Lockwood Elementary kindergarten class of 1980, I apologize.  Turns out, those little juvenile deliquents earned every one of those little pink tardy slips all on their own.  

When my husband left the house at 7:59 this morning to take my son the .8 miles to school the timeline should've gone something like this:

8:04 arrive at school

8:06 arrive in cafeteria where Mrs.P is waiting to greet you in all of her kindergarten teacher        glory; talk Star Wars and Legos with best friend M.

8:15  walk to class in one straight line - no talking, no pushing, no spitting  (I made that last one  up, but I cannot believe that it wouldn't be part of the rules)

8:20  start class... on time... responsibly... making your parents look good

Instead it went something like this:

8:04    arrive at school

8:06    walk through the doors of the school

8:06a  turn head for one last look at Dad driving away, notice huge snowflakes that look               exactly like fluffy cotton balls 

8:06b   wonder if it is possible to catch those huge, fluffy, cotton ball snowflakes on tongue

8:07    turn body and walk back outside

8:10    catch snowflakes on tongue

8:15    catch snowflakes on tongue

8:20    catch snowflakes on tongue

8:25    catch snowflakes on tongue

8:27    be escorted back inside by a judgey front desk attendance lady that notices you out on         the lawn catching snowflakes on tongue (finally - hello?)

8:29   receive tardy slip

8:31   tip-toe into class during the Pledge of Allegiance... not on time... not making your parents    look good

So... after today my son's permanent record reads a little something like this:

Mack - tardy due to inclement weather and the complete inability to not be a little boy.

Good for him.

Pants are the best protection...

Ummm... Can someone tell me why there are so many lines on my negative pregnancy test?