A Mother's Improv

I don't know how Sundays are for all of you people ... but for us ... they can be a downright free-for-all. Rarely does Sunday run like a well-oiled machine and it seems that no matter how much pre-prep I do ... there's always the frantic countdown to the car ride. We are part of a new church plant here in Asheboro and because we are occupying the chapel of an existing church, our weekly services are going to be in the evenings instead of the mornings. You would think this would be a clear advantage in my plight for greasy Sunday gearing ... but so far it's a no go. Yesterday was no exception.
I began with plenty of time to spare. I had to iron 3 outfits, pack Brad's overnight frog-backpack for an after church spend the night at Grandma's, get Brad and Mary dressed, get myself dressed, and yell at Ben to get dressed (multiple times) ... but even still, I was running ahead of schedule and feeling rather hopeful that this was to be the Sunday that came off without a hitch.

What was I thinking?

The finish line was in sight. Brad was dressed and packed for Grandma's, Ben was drying his hair, Mary was pressed and dressed in her perfectly matched hot pink and white leggings, skirt, and bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. She even had hot pink and white pony-tail holders in her hair and she was the picture of 3 year-old cuteness. All that remained was for Mommy to get on her makeup and clothes and we were outta there.

I had just done the "lean in" to apply my mascara in the mirror - mouth open in that funny way we women open it when we're putting on eye makeup - and all the sudden ... from the bedroom ... I hear ... Mary ... yelling ...

"Ohhhhh nooooo!!!!"

I didn't even want to look. I know what those two words mean ... and for a mother, it's never good news. I walked out of the bathroom to discover that Mary had wandered back into her bedroom and found her half-melted cherry popcicle and when she tipped it up to bite it ... cherry ... red, red cherry juice poured out of the wrapper and found a trail all the way down the very front of her bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. I felt a sob well up in my throat as my hopes to get to church on time dashed against the rocks of reality. I wondered if somewhere in a cold, dark grave that Murphy dude who wrote all the laws was chuckling at me. Seriously? Cherry red on a bleached white shirt?

Could a bigger fish swallow me, please?

I ran in the bathroom, grabbed a wet washcloth and started to wipe ... I mean, moms are preprogrammed in the womb to grab a wet washcloth and start wiping - no matter what the emergency. I'm not sure what I expected to happen ... maybe a Sunday miracle ... but I am pretty sure I am smart enough to know that a wet washcloth + red, red cherry popcicle = smear. However, my instincts gave me no choice. I grabbed, I wiped ... ahhhhh ... I discovered. Wet washcloth + red, red cherry popcicle = pink. Then a brilliant, yet temporarily insane thought exploded in my head. I looked at the clock, pondered it for all of 2.7 seconds, and said, "Mary, hand Mommy your popcicle."

Yes, I did it.

I took my fingers and began splashing red, red cherry popcicle all over Mary's bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. Front, back, sleeves ... all of it. Mary was staring at me like I had two heads and a unicorn horn growing out of my forehead ... and I said, "Mary, Mommy is doing something grown-ups call improvising. It's when you take what you've got and you work with it. So, Mommy is working with it. Mommy is not saying that it is okay to put popcicle juice all over your clothes ... but we're out of time and Mommy does not have time to change your whole outfit. So, it will dry and you will smell glorious." Mary said, "Wow Mommy, this if fun!"

By the time my speech concluded, I had splashed and wiped the whole masterpiece down and Mary stood before me in the cutest pink tie-dyed shirt you've ever seen. She matched perfectly and went back to putting on my mascara. I am woman ...

Hear me roar.

I think I feel a devotion coming on ...