My daughter was chosen as Mary for the Christmas pageant at church. As any mother can attest, this is ultimately the biggest compliment we can be given. Well our children, but basically us, the Moms, the people behind the scenes raising little Marys. Right?
Well, read on to hear how I was humbled tonight…
About an hour before we needed to leave, I arrived home from one of my jobs. My husband informed me that our son had been bathed, hair cut and he was dressed. I was thankful. Husband was also looking good. I was even more thankful.
I sent Mary to get ready and started to do so myself. I came out of the bathroom feeling like Julia Roberts’ mother before the Golden Globes just in time for all hell to break loose.
First, my husband came in panicked that the chicken coop had nearly burnt down. He went to water them and found the heat bulb had swung up into the nesting box and the smoke had killed two chickens. I was super bummed, but the coop was NOT a loss and we still had lots of chickens left, so I tried to remain positive.
I then went to look for Mary, who was also panicked. Was she supposed to bring baby Jesus or not? Would her pink polka dot robe work as her costume? Should she keep her hair down like back in the BC days?
Uhm, I didn’t know any of these things. I tried to pull myself together and insisted Yes to baby Jesus, no to pink robe, and yes to straight hair. Simple enough.
I then went to gather my son, who was dressed, but in a mismatched sweat suit. Apparently my husband and I had different ideas on attire for the Golden Globe’s/Christmas Pageant at church.
I tried to coax him into his sweet little vest and tie, but he melted down, like full on I just got over a 102 degree fever yesterday and I just want to be comfortable and who cares if they’re stained sweat pants to wear in front of God and man at church tonight?
Well, I bull dozed my desires over him and he cried all the way out to the car, only to inform me that he had not had supper (I had just walked in the doors from work, I didn’t think to ask that little deet.)
Well, Ritz crackers for supper it is. Wipe your tears, stuff your face, and get in the car. I knew I had started my car earlier with the remote start, so it should be warm.
Wrong. The remote start had tried, but apparently my car had been parked outside earlier in the day and it’s warm blooded like me and didn’t like the sub zero temps and got a little sassy, also like me, and refused to start. I coaxed it til she roared back to life and went back in the house.
Meanwhile, Mary was having a fit that the baby Jesus I picked out of her old toy box was no where near good enough. It reminded her of a bad day – you know the day I took a doll out of her box and cut its hair to look like a boy on a Pinterest day when my son was feeling left out from everything his big sister and cousins were doing to make him feel better and even ordered a Spiderman boy clothing set off of Etsy for the fake American Girl doll I had massacred to make him feel special but it was an epic fail because the doll was one the cousin had given to Mary and so I broke her heart by trying to heal anothers’ – yeah, that day. So, she had a major meltdown on her way out to the car, which thankfully was now warm, and I had to use my shouty voice to get everyone’s attention.
Finally, just me and hubs left. On my way out to the car*TMI WARNING* our 14 year old yellow lab stood by the door which I didn’t open fast enough and pissed. Like a lot. and he couldn’t even hear me shout because he’s basically deaf so he just waited for me to open the door and then pissed all the way out it.
*takes deep breath*
I quickly remove cute girl shoes that I only wear out in the ice when my super strong and gentleman of a husband can escort me. I look good in heels and I love how he looks next to me. I remove them, sadly, and calculate the time and assure myself the 5 minutes it’ll take to shampoo up this random mess will be worth it.
As I’m shampooing I get a text from a good family friend who just happens to be boss of the Christmas Pageant (which I’m sure had NOTHING to do with my little darling being Mary this year…) requesting I help Joseph and Mary get changed into costume during the third verse of “Oh Come Emmanuel.” I got this. No problem I text back, thinking how fortunate I was to be the one who turned my daughter into Mary in front of the whole congregation. (Total honesty here, people. I’m sorry that i can be a horrible person sometimes).
I finish cleaning up the piss, put on my kinda cute but flat footed boots (not the shoes I was hoping to wear, assuming the same ones Julia Roberts’ mom would wear on such an occasion but I didn’t want to slip and break my neck before the big show) as I jog out the truck where my family is waiting for me. Luckily the smoldering fire was completely put out and the rest of the flock was saved.
We get to church on time, thank God, and I get the low down of the when and where for the self imposed important task of dressing Mary and Joseph. No problem. The church fills. I hear “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel,” I get into position in the back of the church, and a very nervous Mary and Joseph came speed walking back to me. I grab the simple looking robe only to realize that they are not as simple looking as they appear. Beautiful, yes. Easy, nope.
I toss my daughter’s on, I try to explain to her how it worked, how to carry the baby so it looked like she was pregnant and then, Wabam! baby Jesus is born that quick and placed in the manger.
Joseph was a little awkward. I guess 6th grade boys who have had you as a sub in their classroom get a little weirded out by these things. He toughed it out like a trouper, but the song was way, waaaay over and it was silent. I nudged them to the front of the church. They both look at me like I was crazy. Wrong time. I was probably wrong. Fine. No probs.
Then the Christmas Pageant boss got on the mic and informed the church they were, in fact, waiting for Mary and Joseph to appear….
Ugh. I totally failed. I let down the most important characters, at least in my own mind. PLUS while I was waiting with them, I didn’t witness my first grader perfectly deliver his only line. Double ugh.
Well, they both scurried up there, Mary said her line a little nervously and then proceeded to toss baby Jesus into the manger.
No joke, folks. She basically grabbed him by the leg and bounced him into the manger like a 30 inch walleye would come to shore.
I froze, unable to even look around to see if anyone had seen this little faux pas. No one laughed, well at least not loud enough for me to hear.
I took my seat next to my parents who had so kindly shown up, along with about a dozen other family members, and wanted to bury my head like an ostrich.
The rest of the show was adorable. Of course the kids placed closest to the mic were the worst singers, they brought in a girl from another church to solo “Mary Did You Know” and did an INCREDIBLE job, and the cookies afterward clearly were from the congregation members’ actual Christmas’ two weeks ago, but that’s what I love about our small town. I know all this. And they now know that I am a horrible costume person behind the scenes.
I feel like I should have some line here about the magic of Christmas or the Christmas lesson or something practical and wise, but honestly all that comes to mind is don’t let your chicken coop burn down or let your senior lab get a UTI the day of the show and don’t trust the wisdom of 11 year olds during a Christmas pageant. But even if life fails on all those levels, it will all still turn out just fine.
Happy New Year ya’all!