Children and Church

Well, it has taken all of two weeks for the Baileys to become 'that family' no one wants to sit next to in Church. Yes, that is right. Serving as Bishop five months ago, we were (supposed to be) models for a whole ward to follow. Now, you can't get anyone to sit within three pews of us.

Let me preface this downfall by mentioning that Keegan, 1, and Alden, 3, are already in full-throttle sibling rivalry. Everything Alden does, Keegan wants to do. And of course, Alden does not want Keegan to do what he is doing, at any time, in any way--threatens his very identity, don't you know. Now imagine that nascent testosterone having to endure three hours of church from 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., with hour and ten minute long Sacrament meeting (our main, sit in the pews and listen to adults talk about the gospel meeting) last. This means, inescapably, that our Sacrament meeting pew is a bloody battle ground. By the time people start to give talks, Alden is dying hungry. Whatever he eats, Keegan dives after. Alden shoves back. Keegan bumps his head and screams. Dad gets mad at Alden. He cries loudly. You know the drill.

Well, we've managed to surpass even that regular ruckus lately. Two weeks ago, the Bishop and his counselors (the leaders of our local congregation), bless their sweet hearts, decided to talk for the whole meeting about Reverence. Yes, that lovely, sit still, be quiet, pay attention and prepare yourself to receive the message principle that is the bane of every parent. (Unknown if we are the root cause of the decision to address the issue. Speculation has run rampant, however.) Well, after spending half the meeting trying to wrestle the boys apart, I turned to Kathleen and mouthed 'get Keegan out of here.' She did. And no sooner had she walked out the doors to the foyer than Alden began to cry, in none too sotto voce, "I want my mommy!" Of course, he didn't really care about his mom. He cared that Keegan was with his mom, and he wasn't. But he wouldn't stop crying, so I had no choice but to usher him out, and leave his mother to wrestle them in the foyer, where they wouldn't disturb anyone. I came back in to sit with poor Kate, who had been left all alone in a big, long, empty row, with toys, cheerios and other detritus from the battle strewn all about.

All seemed well until just that moment when the Bishop was giving his most impassioned testimony about the importance of reverence. He had just built up to it when Alden came running through the foyer doors, straight to our row, and said, "Dad, Mom says it is time to go. Now." I'm not sure whether the Bishop heard it, but judging by the snickering laughter, almost everyone else did.

But did the embarrassment stop there? Oh no. Keegan had to top it the very next week. As usual, it was Sacrament meeting, and they were fighting over food. It got so intense that I told Kath, "I have to get Keegan out of here" (see, we learned something from the week before -- this time it was me taking Keegan). So I grabbed him under the arms, pulled him over so he was facing me, and was just on the verge of standing up to leave.

That is when he decided to vomit. Not just run of the mill spit up vomit. This was Projectile Style, complete with little chunks of food amidst the sour breast milk. And talk about volume--that boy must have hollow legs. Even his belly (which looks like his father's at this point) could not possibly hold such quantities of fluid. Kath tried desperately to block it with a clean diaper. I think she might have gotten a teaspoon or two. Mostly, I was the blessed recipient. It was on my shirt. It covered my tie. It absolutely coated my pants -- both front and back (I am not joking). It even pooled inside my shoe, which made for a nice squishy sound when I walked out-- amidst dead silence, and looks of "can you even believe that" horror/pity.

Keegan was no worse the wear five minutes later. I, however, have been scarred for life. I have now resolved to become one of the "Foyer People." You know, the ones that go to church but never actually step inside the chapel or the classroom. Just safely in the foyer, near the emergency exit. I think I'll be alright there. I think.