I love morning church!! It is so much easier for me than attending in the afternoon!! When we lived in Utah, our ward shared the building with three other wards. One year we actually met from 3 p.m to 6 p.m. That schedule was super hard on the little ones!! But now we are back on the morning schedule and I just love getting up, getting ready and being home by lunch time, with the rest of the afternoon to relax and visit with my family and prepare for the coming week. Morning church rocks!
Spike attended his first primary class yesterday. It was awesome. We had been talking about it for a week and making a big deal of how fun it will be to be a Sunbeam (the three year-old class). Luckily, I was up and ready for the day fairly early. When I awoke the children, we had an hour to get ready for church, which was a great plan, and it was good that I was completely ready, except throwing on my dress and shoes.
Lovely. These are my very favorite Sundays. Oy! I tried telling him that his shirt was dirty and needed cleaning. No luck. I threatened him with consequences. He didn't care. I finally had to be true to my threats and administer them. I stuffed him into his pants, while he screamed and kicked and loudly complained. His brothers sat and watched the show. After he was stuffed into his pants, I put on his socks and shoes. His little self began relenting.
We calmed down and hugged each other after the ordeal. He apologized for being obnoxious. I told him I was sorry that I had to give him consequences, but if he had been willing to cooperate, they never would have come. Then the test of all time. I told him it was time to change his shirt and take off the angry birds one. I gave him the choice between two other shirts, the one he screamed about trying on the week before (hand-me-down, which is two sizes too large, white,and had to have the sleeves rolled up) or the new, pretty blue striped one, which fits, that I picked up at the thrift store.
He always chooses blue shirts. He hates the white ones, and at three has told me so many, many times.
He chose the white one, just as a matter of defiance, I believe. But whatever! He willingly changed his shirt, without any more fight about clothing, as long as I cut out the tag first, you understand.
We only visited the bathroom four times during sacrament meeting.
Sharing time was pretty fabulous, only running across the room three or four times to see me and tell me how he felt about what was happening. Only once did I have to go to the front of the room to retrieve him, as the poor chorister completely ignored him practically tugging on her apron and demanding her attention as she tried to teach the rest of the children. The other sunbeam just sat on his mother's lap.
I guess the class time was another adventure all on its own. Because we had visited the bathroom so many times during sacrament meeting, I figured he was probably good to go for the rest of the meetings. I was wrong. I was teaching another class so when he needed to use the bathroom, his teacher (mother of the other sunbeam) took him to his father.
Well, Spike didn't want his father's assistance. He wanted his mother. So they spent 15 minutes in the bathroom discussing whether or not Spike was actually going to go. Spike had never been in the men's bathroom. He had never used a urinal. Did I mention that he doesn't like new things and that he really doesn't transition well? After the 15 minute discussion, in the men's room between the three year old and the Bishop, the Bishop decided to help him make the decision easier and just pulled down his pants and placed him on the toilet. Unfortunately, the Bishop was unaware that because those toilets are so large, I have to remove Spike's pants completely in order for him to have some balance and take care of his business. Because their discussion had continued so long, poor Spike's little bladder could not hold things any longer. You can imagine the mess they were managing and Spike's frustration and disgust as he got more wet than he had planned on and because of the length of their discussion and the mess, the Bishop's frustration, as well. After all was cleaned and washed and well, Spike and the Bishop returned to their respective classes.
No mention was made to me until about the end of class when the Bishop poked his head into my classroom to let me know 'there had been an incident with my youngest son.' Because I knew he knew what it was, I wasn't worried about it. I took Spike home where he insisted on changing all of his clothing, pretty much immediately. I accommodated him.
But I didn't hear the entire story until the Bishop finished his work and was home (about two hours later).
I have to tell you. I laughed hysterically. I'm not sure the Bishop was amused.
And that is a day in the life of Spike.