Worshiping the Porcelain God

No pictures today...you can thank me later.

Since we've been heathens for weeks, Ollie and I were determined to go to church this morning. We arranged with Grandma to go to 9:30 instead of 8:00 mass. Even though Speck had caused me to hug the toilet at home, I figured I could get through an hour now that I'd pretty much purged the evils. I was mistaken.

We arrived at St. Mary's and headed to our normal pew. Ollie was smiling and cooing as Grandma held him. Speck seemed to be behaving, so all was well. That is until the end of the first reading when Ollie started getting restless and crabby. Realizing he was probably hungry, I decided to head to the cry room to feed him a bottle. I planned to rejoin Grandma before communion. When will I learn?

My first hurdle was the lack of space in the cry room, which forced us to improvise in the vestibule. This was actually a happy occurrence, because I find the cry room to be nearly uninhabitable, however there are times when it is a necessity. It was also interesting to watch all the 5-10 year old children go in and out of the restroom. The best part was I never heard the toilet flush once. That was about to change.

All was going well and just as Ollie was finishing up he paused to burp. As I was patting his back and comforting him, up came 7 of the 8 ounces that he consumed. It went everywhere! All over my clothes, my arm, Ollie, and the floor. I quickly mopped up the mess from the floor, but as I stood up I got a strong whiff of the souring formula. This enraged Speck, causing what little amount of fluid left in my stomach to rush up my throat.

Luckily, there were no bratty kids playing in the bathroom and I was able to barge in just in time to reach the toilet. What a sight?!? With Ollie tucked under my arm like a football and souring formula dripping from my clothes, I expelled the last amounts of fluids left in my body. Meanwhile, the line of bored kiddies began forming just outside the door and they began knock, knock, knocking to hurry me along. In between gags, I weakly announced, "Occupied," as Ollie continued to cry.

Finally, I was able to rinse the juices from my arm and wipe them from my clothes, change Ollie's outfit, and open the door to a growing mob of youngsters. The worst part, was I was forced to continue wearing smelly clothes that continued to anger Speck.

Ollie and I decided to step outside to get some fresh air. We were greeted by a very nice gentleman and his two young boys that were apparently not behaving. Ollie and I sat on the bench trying to collect our composure, while watching the brothers pick at each other. This amused me somewhat, but when the father asked if the boys were ready to join church again and behave, the older one replied yes, but the little brother bluntly said, "NO." I loved his honesty, but at the same time I was having flash forwards to my life in about 2 years.

Meanwhile, Ollie was still fussing. I decided that I should just head to the car and wait for Grandma to join us, hoping she would sneak out at communion. Ollie was so crabby I strapped him in his car seat and drove around the parking lot. Finally he was content! As long as I was driving that is. As we cruised the lot, I noticed my new friends hanging at their minivan. I really hope the minivan is not in my future.

Finally, Grandma appeared! After communion she rushed out to find us, but didn't see us in the cry room or vestibule, so she assumed we were outside. Father's homily discussed old ladies complaining about babies making noise in church, so Grandma assumed I heard pieces of it and was afraid to rejoin her in the pew. Little did she know, I had not heard a single word of it.

The rest of the day I spent trying to take it easy. Grandma took Ollie home after church and I took a two hour nap. It almost seems as if God was telling me to sleep in next Sunday...I just might take him up on that.