Easter Sunday.
A day to wear your Sunday best.
A day where God puts you to the ultimate test, making you sit in church with a 2 year old whacked out on sugar while you try not to cuss under your breath.
It’s the Olympics of motherhood.
(Hold toddler, hold hymnal, rib Rico for playing brick breaker on the Blackberry, try not to laugh at friend for snarky comment out of side of her mouth, try not to let too much boobs hang out of dress, try to sing without offending other worshipers, write check for tithe while watching kid outta one eye, listen to sermon all at the same time while looking calm, cool and collected.)
I’m sitting on the back pew, the most appropriate place for a hussy like myself.
My mother in law is sitting across the aisle creating a perfect runway for my 2 year old.
Joy, He has Risen.
While Ella is hotlappin’ the aisle and I am trying to act all “mother of the year” during the ”meet and greet” portion, my MIL informs me that Ella doesn’t have on any panties.
Yes, people, I took my baby to church on Easter Sunday with no panties.
I spent the next 45 minutes praying with great intestinal fortitude that she would not pull her dress up and display her poochie poochie to the whole congregation.
I am a believer in miracles, as Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, as God created the world in 7 days and as Christ arose on the third day….
and my miracle was delivered to me, in the back pew of a small Presbyterian church.
Thank you God for miracles, no matter how small.
