I am not the parent I pictured myself being.
I have all these ideals--like I want to read to my kids every day and have wonderful uplifting discussions of fine literature and the arts (after school, just because we love it), when instead what we end up doing is playing the Wii and dancing around to The Backyardigans--again.
I want to make all our bread (cheaper and better) and feed my kids wonderful whole foods that I have prepared with my hands, on a prettily-set table while the TV is off, instead of eating boxed mac and cheese while we watch Dora--again.
I want my kids to pray with us, cheerfully give kisses, and then go upstairs to their beds and fall into sweet slumber while their Daddy and I sit on the couch and lovingly discuss the day, instead of running around and wrestling everyone into their pajamas, and then hurriedly making coffee and packing the Husband's lunch for the next day, pausing now and then to yell "Go back to bed! YOUR bed! Stay out of your brother's bed!"--again.
But most of all I pictured myself being the kind of parent who took their kids to church every week. Without really examining this idea, a parent who goes to church every single Sunday (and some Sunday nights, Wednesday nights, and who attends Sunday school and at least one Bible study) was, in my mind, the ideal. The good parent. The one who probably keeps a clean house and has family devotions, too.
And then I married an engineer and we moved four times in eight years, and we had to Go to Church in a New Town over and over again.
I know this isn't anything compared to what, say, military families have to deal with, but I confess myself at a loss. It was easier after the first move, when we had no kids and the Husband wasn't working 14 hour days, and we could easily attend Bible studies scheduled for 7pm on a weeknight. (We can't now, by the way. Events at 7pm only work for people who actually get off work before 7pm, and whose work isn't an hour and a half away from home.) Then, again, after the second move, it was easier because Miss Boo was an infant and I could attend 10am ladies' Bible study groups and be reasonably sure she would sleep through the whole thing.
The ladies were by and large okay with it as long as she was a tiny infant. By the time she was eight months old, though, they were starting to be of the opinion that I should loosen up and hand her over to the teenager in the nursery, already. (I couldn't, by the way. Miss Boo was incredibly clingy as a baby and would have screamed the whole time. I know, I tried it once and had to spend a month fixing her terror.)
Thus began the theme of my church attendance afterward, especially after Buddy was born. See, the weird thing about the American protestant church is that, while we're pro-life, we're kind of anti-kid, or at least we're anti-seeing-or-hearing-the-kid.
My baby fusses in church? I get side-eye.
My baby babbles in church? I get a polite reminder that there is a nursery.
My kids drop a crayon/penny/toy car/their Bible? I get a polite reminder that there is a nursery.
My kids remind anyone that they exist during the church service? I get a pointed reminder about children's church.
We like kids, but keep them silent or get them out of there!
The Husband and I believe that it is most appropriate to keep our kids with us in the "real" church service (both because previous experiences have given us safety concerns about children's church/nursery, and because we want them to learn to enjoy a "real" service). And the oldest two are pretty much to the point now where they can sit, most of the time--unless Miss Boo is having a fragile day emotionally (she's been bursting into tears about many things in a very feminine but very frustrating way lately), or Buddy is having a low blood sugar day (can never predict them, thanks to the last gasps of his pancreas). Sasquatch, of course, can't and doesn't sit still, but much of the time I can contain him through the sermon by handing him cars, gum, crackers, and crayons. And he likes the songs.
My kids aren't bad, in other words. They're not being naughty--they stop when we tell them to, they just make mistakes. And the Husband and I aren't ignoring their behavior and letting them shriek during the service, and we're not oblivious to the side-eye we get. (Folks aren't as subtle as they think they are.)
All of which isn't conducive to making Sunday church easy with our kids. It's hard. I dread it every week. Add to this mix Going to Church in a New Town: we know absolutely nobody. Even after attending at our current place for six months we still know absolutely nobody, because while folks are friendly enough to shake your hand, we can never hang around afterwards and chat because our children are usually about to explode by the closing prayer (sometimes before). And we can't go to 10am ladies' Bible study groups, and we can't go to 7pm weeknight events, and our kids are not welcome at either of these things anyway (no, telling me to hand them off to the teenager in the nursery doesn't count as "Welcome"). So I suspect that we are known in this church only as "that one loud family with the kids".
We also can't go every week because of the Husband's job and because of the vagaries of my children--because I really do care that we disrupt other people's worship, and I'd rather stay home with them if I can tell it's going to be a baaaaad day. I usually hope that no one recognizes us enough to miss us if we're gone, but I'm perfectly aware that there are some folks who remember us ("hey, it's that one loud family with the kids again! I hope they don't sit by us!"), and I worry (probably unjustly, but the thought is there) that they are judging us for not attending more often.
Add to this that our church has recently turned its start time back from 11am to 10:30am, but they still go until 12:00 before they stop. (Yay! A longer service for me to sit on my kids during!)
Add to this that the Husband and I never (ever) get to concentrate on the sermon because we're sitting on the kids. I only took Communion twice last year, because of how many Sundays we missed, and because of having to take noisy kids out of the sanctuary while everyone else was being served with the Elements. (Tip to churches: if you have a cry room, maybe you should serve Communion to the folks in there, too. I don't know if that would be disruptive, but I would have killed for that the other day.)
It adds up to a choice for me most Sundays: feel lousy because we failed at being silent during church (again), or feel lousy because I didn't take my children to church and instead we're at home like heathens (again). (Also: when the pastor preaches a sermon on church attendance, and "priorities", and how if you love God you should be willing to give up this one hour {hour and a half service and hour round trip, but who's counting?} for Him. Always a pick-me-up.) Sucks, huh?
I'm telling you about it both in the interest of transparency (there can't be only one of me...please tell me there's someone else with this problem...) and because I have no clue what to do about it. Gritting our teeth and forcing church every Sunday only amps up the side-eye; staying home makes the Husband and I dreadfully homesick for a church service, and the nursery makes our kids emotionally shattered. (If you tell me they need to toughen up I will punch you in the face. And I'm not kidding.)
All of which is a long way of saying, would you pray for us? We couldn't go again today, because I could tell it was going to be a baaaaaaad day, and I am very discouraged. The Husband has been trying to encourage me and point out that the number of times we attend church per month is not the measure of our faith, nor does it determine how well we are discipling our children, but I still compare myself to the parent I pictured being and find I am falling short.
Anyway.
Cheers,
Breanna
P.S.
I meant that bit about not suggesting the nursery. Sasquatch is almost too old for it, anyway.
I have all these ideals--like I want to read to my kids every day and have wonderful uplifting discussions of fine literature and the arts (after school, just because we love it), when instead what we end up doing is playing the Wii and dancing around to The Backyardigans--again.
I want to make all our bread (cheaper and better) and feed my kids wonderful whole foods that I have prepared with my hands, on a prettily-set table while the TV is off, instead of eating boxed mac and cheese while we watch Dora--again.
I want my kids to pray with us, cheerfully give kisses, and then go upstairs to their beds and fall into sweet slumber while their Daddy and I sit on the couch and lovingly discuss the day, instead of running around and wrestling everyone into their pajamas, and then hurriedly making coffee and packing the Husband's lunch for the next day, pausing now and then to yell "Go back to bed! YOUR bed! Stay out of your brother's bed!"--again.
But most of all I pictured myself being the kind of parent who took their kids to church every week. Without really examining this idea, a parent who goes to church every single Sunday (and some Sunday nights, Wednesday nights, and who attends Sunday school and at least one Bible study) was, in my mind, the ideal. The good parent. The one who probably keeps a clean house and has family devotions, too.
And then I married an engineer and we moved four times in eight years, and we had to Go to Church in a New Town over and over again.
I know this isn't anything compared to what, say, military families have to deal with, but I confess myself at a loss. It was easier after the first move, when we had no kids and the Husband wasn't working 14 hour days, and we could easily attend Bible studies scheduled for 7pm on a weeknight. (We can't now, by the way. Events at 7pm only work for people who actually get off work before 7pm, and whose work isn't an hour and a half away from home.) Then, again, after the second move, it was easier because Miss Boo was an infant and I could attend 10am ladies' Bible study groups and be reasonably sure she would sleep through the whole thing.
The ladies were by and large okay with it as long as she was a tiny infant. By the time she was eight months old, though, they were starting to be of the opinion that I should loosen up and hand her over to the teenager in the nursery, already. (I couldn't, by the way. Miss Boo was incredibly clingy as a baby and would have screamed the whole time. I know, I tried it once and had to spend a month fixing her terror.)
Thus began the theme of my church attendance afterward, especially after Buddy was born. See, the weird thing about the American protestant church is that, while we're pro-life, we're kind of anti-kid, or at least we're anti-seeing-or-hearing-the-kid.
My baby fusses in church? I get side-eye.
My baby babbles in church? I get a polite reminder that there is a nursery.
My kids drop a crayon/penny/toy car/their Bible? I get a polite reminder that there is a nursery.
My kids remind anyone that they exist during the church service? I get a pointed reminder about children's church.
We like kids, but keep them silent or get them out of there!
The Husband and I believe that it is most appropriate to keep our kids with us in the "real" church service (both because previous experiences have given us safety concerns about children's church/nursery, and because we want them to learn to enjoy a "real" service). And the oldest two are pretty much to the point now where they can sit, most of the time--unless Miss Boo is having a fragile day emotionally (she's been bursting into tears about many things in a very feminine but very frustrating way lately), or Buddy is having a low blood sugar day (can never predict them, thanks to the last gasps of his pancreas). Sasquatch, of course, can't and doesn't sit still, but much of the time I can contain him through the sermon by handing him cars, gum, crackers, and crayons. And he likes the songs.
My kids aren't bad, in other words. They're not being naughty--they stop when we tell them to, they just make mistakes. And the Husband and I aren't ignoring their behavior and letting them shriek during the service, and we're not oblivious to the side-eye we get. (Folks aren't as subtle as they think they are.)
All of which isn't conducive to making Sunday church easy with our kids. It's hard. I dread it every week. Add to this mix Going to Church in a New Town: we know absolutely nobody. Even after attending at our current place for six months we still know absolutely nobody, because while folks are friendly enough to shake your hand, we can never hang around afterwards and chat because our children are usually about to explode by the closing prayer (sometimes before). And we can't go to 10am ladies' Bible study groups, and we can't go to 7pm weeknight events, and our kids are not welcome at either of these things anyway (no, telling me to hand them off to the teenager in the nursery doesn't count as "Welcome"). So I suspect that we are known in this church only as "that one loud family with the kids".
We also can't go every week because of the Husband's job and because of the vagaries of my children--because I really do care that we disrupt other people's worship, and I'd rather stay home with them if I can tell it's going to be a baaaaad day. I usually hope that no one recognizes us enough to miss us if we're gone, but I'm perfectly aware that there are some folks who remember us ("hey, it's that one loud family with the kids again! I hope they don't sit by us!"), and I worry (probably unjustly, but the thought is there) that they are judging us for not attending more often.
Add to this that our church has recently turned its start time back from 11am to 10:30am, but they still go until 12:00 before they stop. (Yay! A longer service for me to sit on my kids during!)
Add to this that the Husband and I never (ever) get to concentrate on the sermon because we're sitting on the kids. I only took Communion twice last year, because of how many Sundays we missed, and because of having to take noisy kids out of the sanctuary while everyone else was being served with the Elements. (Tip to churches: if you have a cry room, maybe you should serve Communion to the folks in there, too. I don't know if that would be disruptive, but I would have killed for that the other day.)
It adds up to a choice for me most Sundays: feel lousy because we failed at being silent during church (again), or feel lousy because I didn't take my children to church and instead we're at home like heathens (again). (Also: when the pastor preaches a sermon on church attendance, and "priorities", and how if you love God you should be willing to give up this one hour {hour and a half service and hour round trip, but who's counting?} for Him. Always a pick-me-up.) Sucks, huh?
I'm telling you about it both in the interest of transparency (there can't be only one of me...please tell me there's someone else with this problem...) and because I have no clue what to do about it. Gritting our teeth and forcing church every Sunday only amps up the side-eye; staying home makes the Husband and I dreadfully homesick for a church service, and the nursery makes our kids emotionally shattered. (If you tell me they need to toughen up I will punch you in the face. And I'm not kidding.)
All of which is a long way of saying, would you pray for us? We couldn't go again today, because I could tell it was going to be a baaaaaaad day, and I am very discouraged. The Husband has been trying to encourage me and point out that the number of times we attend church per month is not the measure of our faith, nor does it determine how well we are discipling our children, but I still compare myself to the parent I pictured being and find I am falling short.
Anyway.
Cheers,
Breanna
P.S.
I meant that bit about not suggesting the nursery. Sasquatch is almost too old for it, anyway.
1 comment:
Oh, how I relate! It's. So. Hard. The whole thing is lose/lose at this stage of our life. I can imagine a light at the end of the tunnel, but it doesn't make Sunday morning any easier to tell ourselves, "Hang tough! It will all work out someday!"
I can recognize that statement as truth. I can and do choose to believe it on a weekly basis. But that really does nothing for me when I'm pulling my kid out AGAIN, or staying home AGAIN.
No, you aren't alone.
- Kindra
Post a Comment