Sacrament meeting is supposed to be a respite. A place for quiet contemplation. A place for spiritual rejuvenation.
Just not when you have kids.
We spend much of our Sabbath worship trying to keep Tate from escaping the chapel or from hurling cars at his siblings (or at the unsuspecting bystanders sitting in the pews around us). We try to keep Paige and Curtis from fighting over crayons or fishy crackers or over who's looking at who when that who doesn't like being looked at.
But something magical happened today.
Paige and Curtis were both being good and Tate was sitting quietly on my lap. It was so peaceful that I was even able to close my eyes and silently take it all in.
And then I was abruptly brought back to reality--when a little finger was shoved directly up my nostril. Before I could even react, Tate had shoved a second finger up my other nostril.
There is no respite.
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