But, since the bride is amazingly full of patience, forgiveness and grace...she happily weighed the risks and still chose to utilize them. They were given adorable little man three-piece suits, explained their role, and promised a reward should they comply.
Let it be know: my boys are full "boys". Through and through. They do not sit quietly. Like ever. (Just this morning I attempted watching Veggie Tales with them, only to be elbowed and kicked and shoved repeatedly. By the time Jonah was in the belly of the whale, my skin was crawling and I had intense feelings of claustrophobia. True story.) I've accepted these things. (For the most part.)
When the wedding rehearsal came time, I carefully told the boys the events that were about to occur and what was expected of them. And while the bride and groom practiced the reciting of the vows, there was my duo...rolling around the aisles, talking three decibels louder than necessary and giggling hysterically. They were happily oblivious to the sacred, holy moment that was about to unfold in a new married couples life. The flower girl sat quietly, eyes captured by all that was happening. Like my girls would have been when they were little.
The flower girl is absolutely adorable. She's three as well, with the most delicate of features she couldn't be any more "girl". She reminds me much of our girls when they were little: happy to be by Mama's side, taking life in as it comes. Last weekend we were guests at another wedding, and I sat behind this little girl, marveling at her stillness while I attempted to bribe my boys into silence with gum and granola bars. So...I knew fully the contrasting personalities that were going to be displayed in this wedding. And I was spot-on correct.
The three little kids in the wedding were ushered to the back of the church where I could both chaperon and instruct. When it came time to practice their parts, I was informed that the flower girl would behave "perfectly"...I was actually "guaranteed" it. I shamefully hoped and wished that she would throw the most epic of tantrums right there and then. That flower petals would fly, tears would flow, shrieks would be heard, and everyone would be left standing there, mouths gaped open at the shock of her horrible behavior. It's terrible, I know...my humanness. I'm not very proud of myself.
This is the moment. The very moment that my deepest insecurities began to creep their way out of the darkest places. And as my boys linked arms, marched and giggled their goofy little selves down the flower-petaled aisle, I could feel my blood beginning to boil up to my throat. And when they ran rather loudly the last half, it threatened to spill out. I was embarrassed and undone. I could feel the looks of disdain and disapproval of everyone thrown my way. (Perhaps I was imagining that part...but it felt painfully real.) I was irritated. Frustrated. That my boys were...boys. That they were being energetic and loud. Having a great time, despite anyone else in the room. And suddenly it was grating my every last nerve. A dark pesky cloud hovered over me the whole rest of the night, and I couldn't wait to escape from the whole scene.
After we arrived home and tucked the very last child in bed, the blood that was boiling turned into a puddle of tears that flowed freely. I was disappointed. Embarrassed. And ashamed.
Not with my sweet, wild boys.
With myself.
I'd given in to the one ugly thing that I preach so hard against: Comparison. Proof yet again...it really does destroy contentment.
Every. Single. Time.
It's ugly, this comparison that causes discontentment. But very real. And dangerously destructive.
The day of the wedding came, and I thought I was so smart to wait the last few minutes before putting the boys in their fancy suits, so as not to let them soil the crisp ivory sleeves and vest. Except, the pants didn't fit. Every two steps, those slippery black pant-legs were falling to the ground. Some wax twine solved that. (Large-family-mothers are well-known for their ingenious improvisations.) With only two minutes until we needed to be in the car, I slipped on their shoes. That had not been worn since last fall. Which no longer fit their growing feet. So, I did like any sane mother would...drove 50 miles per hour to the local dollar store, and ran to the shoe aisle like a frantic lunatic. The sales clerk sensed my panic and offered to cut all the tags off the six-dollar-shoes, bless his soul. Because, most women sprint through the dollar store dressed all out to purchase two pairs of identical shoes, right? While breaking all the speed limits, we hurried to the church, only to find we had made it through the door just in time to hear the song playing that signaled it was time for my boys to be heading down the aisle. I was a hot mess. But we had made it. I shoved them through the door, and crossed my fingers that they'd just keep walking. They did. Swinging arms the entire way. Then they stopped mid-way to say hello to a friend, and continued on to center stage. Where they loudly made a few hilarious and random comments, which were met with rounds of laughter, of course. But they did it. Despite the monsoon of chaos that it took to get there. And a little piece of humble pie.
I've come to the conclusion that if you choose to have offspring, you also will be given numerous helpings of humble pie. It's just all a part of it. Because children will expose your imperfections like no other. And the more children you have, the more exposed you will be. So...I'm just gonna choose to go with it. To laugh at the fact that my boys can be obnoxiously loud and wild. That they will publicly lick walls. And say random and sometimes embarrassing things. They are who they are. And I am who I am. There's no way I can even pretend that there's a shred of decency and normalcy in this crazy stage of life.
I can only hope that such insanity is only temporary.
No comments:
Post a Comment