Sunday With My Four Year Old

 This is dedicated to those of you who have taken a four year old to Church. 

 

A note on Thomas’ outfit.  He picked it out himself.  Those rockin’ wool pants were made by my Grandma Della probably 22 years ago, the bow tie too.  And the vans…I bought them from a lady on the side of the road who speaks no English, has two teeth and charged me 10,000 Kwacha…two dollars.

Sundays with Thomas have been challenging, to say the least.  The mornings go okay, even pleasant.  Then we arrive at our church building.  We sit down and the first hour is a blur of Thomas alternately waving pictures of knights on horses at us, or demanding in his “whisper” that we draw him and knight on a horse with a feather in his helmet and a cape. And then it progresses to something like this, “no, the horse needs to be black”, “ah, I didn’t want the feather like that”, “it has to be long and flowing, “no my knight has to have a gun”, "ah, I want a longer sword”... Of course, this all takes place as he faces backward toward the rest of the congregation.  If we make it out of Sacrament with out tears and whispers through gritted teeth, it is a miracle. 

However, this Sunday he left Sacrament meeting dry eyed only to burst into tears because he didn’t want to go to Primary.  Somehow I made it through conducting opening exercise only to have my knees tackled by a wet face and two arms made of super glue.  The kid WOULD NOT let go of me.  I had to manage nursery (the class for 18 month-3 year olds) with two little kids that didn’t speak a lick of English, my little almost one year old crawling around putting toys, that I am certain carry TB bacteria on them, in her mouth and then this big four year old, balling boy glued to my body.  He cried for 35 of the 45 minutes we were in our little 5x5 (feet, not meters thank you) nursery room. It was a bit rough. 

The third hour was slightly better.  He hid under a desk, fought with kids over which seat he would be sitting in and then was personally offended when I didn’t call on him to choose every song and help with each activity. 

When we get home he is adorable again.  Sunning himself in his underwear all afternoon.   He asks why the other kids at the college don’t "keep the Sabbath day holy".  A couple of weeks ago he yelled out the car, “Hey, guys, it is the Sabbath.  You are supposed to stay home.  You can’t play today.  Okay bye.”  He is still a bit of a whirlwind all afternoon.  He complains that he doesn’t get some soda pop, the long standing reward he gets if he is good at church.  He has only gotten it once…last week when we only went to Sacrament meeting because we had to take Seth to the clinic. 

This Sunday evening we had a bit of a break through…I figured out what keeps Thomas quietly entertained for 45 minutes – himself.  He spent 45 minutes sorting through our iphoto library.  We didn’t hear a peep.  And the only damage done is a slightly dirty left arrow key on my keyboard…wonderful!

Sundays with Thomas are not easy.  But I know that we are doing the right thing every week. I know we are blessed for our efforts.  And, I know that someday it will be easier.  Someday, he will thank me? Even better, someday...he might be writing a very similar story about his four year old in his journal...HA!