Slingshot.

Confession: Sundays are not my favorite day of the week.
Because I feel like I get shot out of a slingshot first thing in the morning and it just doesn't stop, that's why.

Should I be feeling guilty about this?

Here is how our day went today. It's fairly typical.

At 6:30, Dave got up and ready to go to his meetings. He left by 7:00. I got up then and started seeing to the needs of children who were loudly clamoring for Curious George DVDS. My determination, at this point, is fairly strong. They ended up pouting over bowls of generic Cheerios and milk. While they pouted and started flinging cereal at each other, I got myself dressed and then brought out their Sunday clothes.

Emily had to have the skirt that she couldn't wear last week because I couldn't find a safety pin and my almost 6 year old daughter has a size 2T waist, which led to a major (96 minutes long) meltdown. This week, safety pins in hand, I shrunk the waist and laid it out with a yellow shirt and off white shoes. Skirt and shirt, fine. Shoes--no. Pink flip flops with green plastic star-shaped glasses that have no lenses in them. Perfect.

Caleb hates Sunday clothes and is dedicating his life to the wearing of one, black batman t-shirt. I convinced him to wear a shirt with an actual collar by promising three gumdrops.

Ainsley is dressed in her size 6 month dress. Awesome.

Now I remembered that I was going to throw stew in the crock pot so I tell the kids to grab "one quiet toy" and head to the car. While I'm madly chopping up potatoes and carrots, Emily grabbed a brush, a mirror, two small plush dolls, and a huge stuffed animal. Caleb chose a sword. Ainsley chose my cell phone.

Stew in the crockpot, I loaded all the kids into the car. Back into the house to grab church shoes. Back out to the car. Back into the house to grab my makeup, which I forgot to put on. Back out to the car. Back into the house to grab a gluten free cracker so I can take the sacrament. Back out to the car. Back into the house because I forgot the darn gum drops and Caleb is going to start World War III over them.

20 minute drive to church through Bible Belt Church Traffic, putting makeup on at stop lights, and we pull into the parking lot with 5 minutes to spare.

Into sacrament meeting--slipping my cracker to the young men president, who buries it under bread and renders the gluten free food covered in gluten. Oops. Following that spiritual feast, the talks began on the topic of reverence, and how to teach your kids reverence. It was very inspiring. I should've taken notes. If only I hadn't had Ainsley jumping on my lap, while I tried to mediate ball point pen wars between Emily and Caleb before they had a chance to get highlighter on every surface within reach.

Waved goodbye to Dave and handed out all the Relief Society announcements and binders to the auxiliaries before I went to substitute in nursery. The actual nursery leader served snack first thing and put all the toys away with one hour left to go in class, but she had no other activities or lesson planned.

Improvise.

End of church, scoop up binders, fulfill compassionate service calling by checking on all the pregnant sisters, trip over Caleb in the hall three times, wave goodbye to Dave and come home.

Kids start clamoring for Curious George and gumdrops.
My determination is weakening.
"Sunday dinner" lunch of bananas and applesauce.

Turn on the interactive "Friend" on the laptop and flop on the couch.
Welcome home, Dave.
Kids start fighting over computer. "Sunday appropriate" DVD instead.
Kids start whining about how they don't want a "Sunday appropriate" DVD.
Deal with whining by falling asleep while they're sitting on you.

Wake up and say goodbye to Dave.
Pancakes for dinner.
Attempt at family togetherness outside ends in wrestling match. Attempt at Sabbath activity of writing thank you notes to the missionaries.
Read the story of Ammon.
In bed by 6:30.
Welcome home, Dave.

All in all, it was actually a pretty good Sunday... which is probably pretty sad. But for the sake of reality (and posterity), that's us on Sundays.

Not my favorite day of the week.