Good bye 40

On this the last day of my fortieth year, I had simple plans: go to church, come home, rest and go to bed early, hoping to sleep in on my birthday, because this year, it is a holiday.

Instead, banshees replaced the boys and they were screaming, yelling, running and fighting from approximately eight until we left for church at 12:30 (blasted afternoon schedule). I seriously considered running away at this point, but there were no rooms at the M (hotel nearest us). Yes, I checked.

There is a loving family that usually sits with us and since the couple are both in leadership positions and must attend meetings, they usually save a long pew for us all to share. They were out of town. I knew this and knew we needed to arrive with enough time to get a side pew sufficiently large enough for us all--side because I needed that wall to help me corral the banshees and their sisters.

Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the only side pews left were the shorty ones at the tapered end of the chapel. CE whined that I wouldn't let her sit with her friends. Bam whined that he couldn't sit with the kind ward member he sometimes does because he had lost the privilege due to his part in banshee-ness (following through on threats, to my own detriment you know, trying to be the mother who means business). A very kind (and smaller) family offered to trade places, allowing us to sit in the slightly less tapered pew. CE complained she was squished, like Alexander and his terrible horrible no good very bad day. She sat in the very middle of the pew and wouldn't budge-squishing everyone else. Bam sat on my lap and whined and wouldn't budge. M happily sat next to me chatting with the baby behind us until the meeting began. As the sacrament neared, M wouldn't stop turning around to chat with cute baby, Bam wouldn't stop whining and then, M, being denied one too many times began to cry that fire siren cry that says "get out now, get out of the chapel RIGHT NOW." So I picked up both children on my lap and tried to quickly and gracefully get out, tripping instead on CW's shoe (he swears it wasn't there on purpose) and I fell all over the aisle, children and smushed pride flinging themselves irreverently in all directions. Kind ward member sitting behind me picked up one child, I had the other, I thanked him and took remaining child hoping to be able to get out of the chapel before the crying began. Yeah, fat chance.

I ran down the hall by DH's office and sat with my crying babies, crying too. Sobbing for my decimated pride, my headache of all week, my splintery nerves from the banshees, crying for my inability to fool anyone that I have anything together on my own. Just crying because I couldn't stop. Not when kind ward friends offered me tissues and hugs, not when DH came (as I can only imagine) flying off the podium to my side. I couldn't stop until my concern finally became more about the mess of black mascara and eyeliner with which I would have to weather the remaining hours of church (thankfully, limited to that glued together eyelash thing that happens when you cry).

Then we just had to get sheepishly through the rest of the meeting, to endure the well-meaning "are you okays" from everyone who had seen my fall for the rest of the three hours. We survived, I even managed to keep my head from spinning right off my neck when the banshees picked up precisely where they had left off the moment we got in the car.

I hate being the public spectacle. I really hate it. I wish that I could believe that this was the last unfortunate display of imperfections I would suffer from. All I can be certain of is that it was the last of my fortieth year, but only because I came home and didn't leave the house the rest of the day!