On a Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, I was tired, dead tired. Seth was colicky from something I shouldn’t have eaten. Simon was miserable. Dinner was horribly late, and thus Samantha was very late getting to bed. I was up most of the night bouncing and soothing Seth’s tears and pain. When the alarm went off a couple of hours later, I set it for an hour later. I decided we needed sleep more than we needed Sunday school. When the alarm went off again, I turned it off, and informed Josh I wasn’t budging from the bed. And then Samantha woke up on her own. She was so excited that it was Church Morning that I drug myself out of the bed after all.
An hour later, I did feel better, and we were able to leisurely leave the house. I thought Josh had let her know how late we were, but right before we got out of the car, I turned around to remind her that we were here in time for church, but not Sunday school.
Her excitement abruptly ended. She didn’t say anything, just looked up at me in misery. I finally asked, “Are you okay, Samantha?” In the softest voice, she answered, “I’m so disappointed.”
We haven’t been late since.