Skip to main content

no vacation in vbs

the good moms bake cookies and mac n cheese from scratch. they always remember to brush their kids teeth, they rarely drive through, they monitor cartoon time (rather than use it to squeeze in a nap or check facebook), they think their new minivans are cool and most importantly they get really excited about things like volunteering at vacation bible school.

i on the other hand dread it.
it is a misnomer really. their is no vacation about it.
this mom is none of the above and even doesn't answer her phone when she thinks that the church is calling to ask for volunteers for the 3 year old sunday school class. i have nothing against volunteering. really i am all for it. it is just that I'd much rather sort clothes for the mission center, or make food for the homeless, or hey even get a filling than "teach" a roomful of little kids.
little kids scare me. i am not good at that fake happy everything is exciting voice. i can barely discipline my own kids, much less a dozen others. when they cry, i want to join in.

but for vacation bible school i figure it is time to pay my dues. i didn't work one day ( for no good reason, but I didn't stop other people from thinking i had important things to do). i pulled for what i thought would be the easiest job. snacks. i pictured passing out grahm crackers and cups of lemonaide to all the rooms.

not exactly.

think 800+ kids and nothing as brilliantly simple as an oatmeal cream pie or pop ice.
instead i had to count out individual animal crackers and add cool whip and chocolate chips ( who thought of that weird snack?), cooks billions and billions of corndogs. also one of my absolute favorite snacks of all time might be ruined. nachos. you know the fake cheese ballpark kind. counting out 9 chips per bowl and ladle out ( read end up wearing) lots of uncheese.
the food and labor weren't actually so bad, but factor in over 100 degree weather and that we were serving these snacks outside. some of the above mentioned moms who really felt like snack was of super world importance. moms who fought over the best way to distribute the formentioned super fancy snacks. i for once kept my mouth closed, did what i was asked, didn't asked questions, secretly dubbed someone the "snack nazi" (...ok, it slipped and i told a few people but it is a secret to her), and counted out my mini corndogs.

but last night, owen sits down on the couch next to ( well more like on top of) Tess and starts talking to her. Shaun pulls him off her and asks what he was trying to tell Tess.

"I was telling Tessie about Jesus".

then to his sister ever so sweetly, "Tessie, Jesus loves you".

it was a bit more than I could handle, I slipped into the kitchen to pretend to do dishes while i quietly cried.
and I can't wait to volunteer next year.

Comments

Alyssa said…
That's the sweetest thing ever!

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...