Busted by Davis

The Millars have been battling a nasty cold/cough/fever for the last week. The twins and dad got it early in the week, and Roger followed on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. . . . .will this ever end? Roger's symptoms include a raging hot fever, cough, nose spouting green snot, and the disgusting eye boogers that crust over and dry, thus rendering eyesight impossible due to glued-shut eyelids. He has been miserable, and so have I. Needless to say, I've carried the little guy EVERYWHERE because whenever I so much as think of putting him down, he begins an angry, crying, pitiful, somewhat-annoying (okay, totally annoying) protest.

I stayed up way too late on Saturday night setting up chairs for Primary, figuring out fliers for an upcoming activity, making phone calls, and squaring away Sharing Time. My late night was a big detriment in the morning-- I had also acquired the cold and I felt miserable. My wake up call was at 7:00 A.M.--Roger very graciously decided he wanted to start his bawling then. I felt like a zombie as I entered his room--my body hadn't adjusted to the hour jump forward in time so it might as well have been 6:00 A.M. I had to give Roger a shower to rid him of crusty eyes and I tried my best to get myself and the family dressed, but was failing miserably. Our church is an early 9:00 A.M. At about 8:30 Roger started to look tired, so I put him down for a nap. He gave in willingly.

The twins still weren't dressed and hadn't eaten breakfast (but had managed to turn on the TV, a big no-no (later in the day I discovered they had put in a church video cause they knew it was Sunday)) despite my efforts to plod them into action. I ran downstairs, turned the TV off, and informed them they needed to get ready right away. "But we're hungry," said Davis. "I want chocolate milk," piped in Eliza. My reply came, "Okay, hurry upstairs and I'll pour you a bowl of cereal while I get dressed. When you are done, please put your Sunday clothes on." They ate--very slowly, and before I knew it, it was past 9:00.

One thing my Dad instilled in me was a desire to be on time to functions. I remember Sundays as a teenager when my dad would give me a 5 minute warning that we were going to church. After the 5 minutes had elapsed, he shuffled us into the car, regardless of protests from my sister and me that we hadn't finished curling our hair. I hated it at the time, but now I have found I've become like him. I hate being late.

This Sunday was no exception, with an even greater enticement to be on time: Daddy was speaking in church with the EQ Presidency!! (of course the one Sunday he is home, he has early meetings and has to speak-- I don't know if I will ever get help on Sundays) I was stuck-- we weren't ready, Roger was sick and asleep, and I definitely wasn't feeling in top form either. I decided to chill out and help the kids with their hair and clothing selection and decided I would wake Roger up at 9:30 so we could run down the street and at least catch Dad's talk.

I don't know how the time got away from me, but before I knew it, it was 9:35 and I was getting over-anxious to get out the door. "Davis, Eliza, please put your shoes on so we can leave," I yelled as I hurredly packed the diaper bag. Eliza came upstairs crying that she couldn't find the match to her Sunday shoes. I ran downstairs and fumbled through her closet, and came to the same end--no match. I implored her to just wear the other ones but the cry-fest only got worse. By this time, Roger had started his sick wailing. I was at my wits end. I exploded, "D#%*!t, Davis, why don't you have YOUR shoes on?"

I immediately regretted my outburst. "Sorry guys, mommy shouldn't be saying those words." My mistake calmed things because of my guilt. We got things together, and FINALLY made it out the door. I walked into sacrament meeting 50 minutes late-- just as D was beginning his talk.

After the closing prayer, I made my way downstairs to the Primary Room. When opening exercises were complete, I was on for Sharing Time. The topic was repentance and the Atonement. I told the story of Alma the younger and the sons of Mosiah who had turned against their fathers and the church. After some fervent prayers from their fathers, and angel visited the young men and they were struck to the earth. After 2 days of being in a coma Alma awoke and told the story of the 2 days he was out of commission. He had been made keenly aware of his sins, felt horrible, but then remembered the teaching of his father about Christ and His atonement. He repented and later became a great leader in the church

At this point the 4-7-year-olds were really into the story. I tried to explain to them that Christ's Atonement was for each of us when we make mistakes like Alma did. I told them that the Atonement is much like Jesus serving our time-outs for us. As I explained this, I let the kids know that I had made many mistakes in my life, but knew that if I promised to forsake them I could be forgiven as well.

Davis took this most opportune moment to add to my comments, "Yeah, mom, you said a swear word today!"

Wow, busted. Instead of ignoring Davis, I decided to let the kids know that yes, I had made a big mistake today and it made me feel awful. I told them I was grateful for the Atonement.

Following Primary, a few teachers laughingly asked me what choice words had left my lips. . . . . . thanks, Davis for ratting me out! How many other Millar secrets will be unearthed by my kids?