Each Wednesday you can enjoy a good laugh by reading a quick “not so pleasant” mommy moment. Moms from all over have shared these stories and I am re-telling them for your enjoyment. Read, laugh, share…
Moving has never been an easy undertaking, especially when it involves a family with two young boys. With each change comes a feeling of loneliness that leads into a desperate need for relationships. Making my way around the neighborhood introducing myself with hopes of meeting a new friend, can be nerve wracking. My husband and I have always made it our priority to immediately get involved in a local church; signing up at first chance for mom’s gatherings, volunteer opportunities, events…anything that involves an assembly of people.
It was our last move to the East Coast that left me feeling alone and empty. Observing this, my husband, one day returning from work, made mention that he had planned a dinner with our new pastor and his wife. My heart skipped a beat, as naturally this type of meeting creates a sense of urgency to look around and make sure all our ducks are in a row.
While peering into my closet arranging and re-arranging the perfect outfit for our date with the pastor, my moment was interrupted, “they said to bring the kids.” WHAT! “We can’t bring the kids. They will ruin our time.” My husband persisted.
We were a few minutes into our time together, kids in tow, and eager to impress for the possibility of a new friendship. I peered over to my freshly bathed boys with a look that hopefully was reinforcing the, you better be on your best behavior talk we had before arriving. Between conversations we glanced at the menu, ready to place our orders during the waitresses next stop to the table.
“What will you all have to drink this evening?” Each person chiming in, it was a split between Iced Tea and “just” water. She made her way to the last seat, my four year old. Gazing at me for his answer, I evaluated the choices. Before I could make a request for milk, over my shoulder a little voice blurted, BEER. “I would like a beer please.”
Oh my God, I mean goodness. Jolted, I abruptly look up from the menu. My eyes wide open with shock covering my face, “He means root beer.” Shifting my attention to the rest of the table, praying the conversation was still going strong, not noticing what was just said. “No mom! BEER, like what daddy drinks.” There was no need to be wearing rouge. I could feel the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. All eyes were on me waiting for my response.
Humbled, wanting to crawl into a hole, I looked at the pastor’s wife and sheepishly smiled, “So do you know anyone else in the church that likes to drink?”