and every time I'm in the middle of one of these crazed morning scenes, trying, albeit hopelessly, to refrain from going into the flesh as I prod the kids along, I vow I'm going to be more organized the next Sunday by laying out the younger kids' clothes the night before, and waking up the older girls three hours earlier to allow for the time it takes them to shower, primp and do their hair, etc. but guess what? I never do.
so, not surprisingly, this past Sunday was no different. once again, I was cursing under my breath as we were madly dashing around. by the time Gary herded the last of the kids into the van it was 9:45, the same time Sunday School is supposed to begin. cringe. this meant they'd be, oh about 12 minutes late, give or take a few minutes, depending on if Gary sped and if he was able to catch all the lights green. which was highly unlikely, because you know, Murphy's Law. guaranteed you'll hit every light red when you're running late.
as the front door slammed behind him, I heaved a sigh of relief, allowing myself a few moments to revel in the peace and quiet. with just Scarlett and Finley left to get ready for church, it was easy street for me. actually, I take that back. I forgot about Hannah, who would be trying on at least 20 different outfits in the next hour all the while grumbling how she has nothing to wear.
but wait a second! no sooner had the van backed out of the driveway when it comes to a screeching halt. the door flies open and a breathless Gary comes flying into the house mumbling something about a missing kid. namely, Rowan.
"where is he, anyway?" he asks. before I had time to respond that I hadn't seen him all morning, he answers his own question. "oh crud, I bet he's still sleeping!" so, off he bolts upstairs to the boys' bedroom and sure enough, there's Rowan-- dead to the world, oblivious to the mayhem that's been going on around him for the past hour. at lightning speed, Gary hauls him out of bed, hurriedly jams some clothes on him, and tosses a handful of cold cereal in a baggie for him to eat on the way.
it wasn't until they were walking into church when one of the kids pointed out that Rowan's pants were too short for him.
um, yeah. that's because he was wearing Finley's size 12-18 month pants. oops. (I snapped these pictures after we got home, couldn't resist.)
yep. just call us the okie finolks of Flagstaff!
the funny thing is, I didn't even notice Rowan's floods until church was nearly over. oh how I laughed! I laughed so hard I was practically near tears! as my shoulders shook with laughter, I'm sure the minister was inwardly curious as to what it was I found so funny about the scripture he'd just read. ACK!
poor Rowan, it's not like it was his fault! being rudely awakened out of a deep sleep, he was likely too groggy to even notice. and Gary, being in such a hurry, just reached for the first pair of pants he spotted on the shelf. never mind they were obviously in the wrong pile, but how was he to know? so really, you can't blame him either. besides, he's been known to wear his clothes inside out. and me? I don't know. I guess I was too preoccupied with other things and, unfortunately for Rowan, it escaped my radar.
oh well. I suppose there could be worse things, right?