We slowly made our way up the platform to the place where the pastor stood waiting. He welcomed us with a broad smile, and an outstretched arm. I held my third-born close to my chest, while my husband held firmly the hands of our four-year-old son, and two-year-old daughter.
It was a beautiful moment, and I was so proud to stand before our church to dedicate our three cherubs to the Lord. Truth be told, I was also showing them off a little, and as my little angels toddled to the front, Sloan with his shirt tucked in and hair slicked back, and Tia in a ruffly dress and tights, I felt a surge of pride.
They are so good, I thought with a peaceful sigh.
The pastor spoke of the importance of raising children in the knowledge and understanding of the Lord, and as he did so, the older two dropped their hands to their sides. Landon squirmed in my arms with a frustrated grunt, and as I shifted, I looked down and saw my cherubic daughter’s hand reach out and tap her brother on the arm.
It wasn’t a love tap. It was more of a Let’s-see-how-quickly-he-gets-mad tap.
You know the kind…
I placed my hand on top of her hand, a calm but firm reminder that I could see her. As the pastor opened his Bible to read scripture and a blessing over our children, Sloan’s hand shot out from his side and met squarely with Tia’s rib.
She retaliated, and in a split second they went from angelic cherubs to tiny hooligans, pulling and tugging and “tapping” one another mercilessly. My husband grabbed each of their hands as a murmur of laughter swept over our congregation. Landon squirmed again, letting out an indignant cry, and the pastor, sensing it was time to wrap things up, offered up a prayer.
As we bowed our heads, Sloan stage whispered to his sister, “We’re praying now! We should get on our knees.”
They crumbled to their knees, and fell prostrate at the foot of our pastor as a wave of laughter swept through the hall. I was mortified. The pastor finished his prayer, gave us a wink and a smile, and sent us on our way with our three, tiny
It’s easy to paint up a picture of perfect children, and even easier to elevate them to the status of angelic, but truth be told, those tiny minions are bound and determined to make sure we never get too proud. Give a five year old the opportunity to speak with the checker at the grocery store, and he’s more than likely going to say something embarrassing.
(In my experience, those embarrassing conversations with strangers always involved body parts.)
Truth be told, when my kids were younger, I spent a significant amount of time red in the face over their shenanigans, their tantrums, or their lack of shame in the public arena.
That is, until I learned to laugh. Once I got over the idea that my children were perfect angels that all should envy, I enjoyed them a whole lot more. And even more exciting is the fact that as they get older, the opportunity for payback grows that much stronger.
Oh I’m sorry, honey. Does my belting out One Direction at the top of my lungs behind the wheel of my smokin’ hot minivan with the windows down embarrass you?!
*insert maniacal laughter here*