When Matthew woke us up at 5 this morning, I literally had no idea what was going to happen. I mean, he wakes up at 5 am every couple of days, and it's usually no big deal. But throw into the mix that we had church (which always throws off his nap-times), a family dinner/birthday party 20 minutes away, and an all around grumpy baby, and today was destined since the early morning start to be an epic fail.
For example:
Had I known that Matty's early morning nap would've only been half the usual time and that would've made him a very inconsolable child, I would've skipped church. But since I lost my DeLorean in a bet that I should've known I was going to lose, I had no idea that Matthew's normal "happy-go-lucky" attitude would've been lost after the first diaper change.
Likewise, had I known that church was going to go as long as it did, I again would've skipped, or left early. I don't want to bad-mouth, and I don't think I am. I am expressing a personal opinion. If you do not agree with my opinion, that's fine! But I don't mean any ill-will, and I most certainly do not want to put down people who are amazing men/women of God. However, I [personally] cannot stand when they have alter-time at the beginning of the service. It drags on and on. I understand why they do it (so people don't leave before they have their chance at the alter), but I would benefit more from HEARING the word and then GOING to the alter. Again....PERSONALLY.
I also have a HARD time worshiping with music that was written before my grandparents were born. I LOVE the fact that I grew up in small town America. But, I have the HARDEST time focusing with songs that I've never heard of, and with that "Gospel-twang". I feel like I'm at an outdoor fair (For you locals, like the Bergton Fair). It's not worship music to me. It's a concert. And yes, I do need to pour my heart out to the Audience of One. But, I spend MORE time getting myself into the attitude (because I have to force it on myself) then I do actually worshiping.
Again...PERSONALLY. I know that there are people of the older generations who feel the same way should someone introduce a "new" song. The only thing I can say is...Maybe I need to find somewhere where that's not so much a problem.
[A little side-note: I really have no problem with "old songs of worship". I just can't stand when they are all done the same way....ya know...like at an old gospel concert].
Anyway, after forcing myself into worship for 5 minutes, twiddling my thumbs for almost a half hour while they have "alter-time", and then watching the clock tick....11:45. 12. 12:15. "We need to be at my parents in 15 minutes, and they are 20 minutes away, and we haven't started praying yet..."
Now, take these feelings of frustration from what's supposed to be a refreshing time in fellowship (don't even get me started on "fellowship"), and take that with an argumentative 10 minutes in the car to the ATM (we owed my mom 10 bucks), then home with a hungry child (we were eating lunch at my parents), all before getting back in the car to drive 20 minutes...we got to my parents 45 minutes late.
Finally we arrive at my parents and everyone's starting to chow down without us (which was agreed upon in our first year of marriage; they are not to wait on us). Matthew refused food and drink of all kinds, and started with a tantrum. In front of everyone. I felt the burning sensation of judgement fall on me.
I'm the middle child. Not a "true" middle child, but as middle as they come. I was born number 3 of 4. My sister who is 8.5 years my senior, my brother is 6 years older, and my "baby" brother who is 3 years younger. My sister is married, with 2 kids and one more on the way (YAY!). My brother growing up had so many problems that he will never be able to claim to have "middle-child-syndrome" even if he wanted. He received all the attention and then some. Given, not all of it was positive, but still....attention is attention. And my "baby" brother, he is the baby of the family. Always has been, and always will be.
So, as we sat around the dinner table, I tried telling stories of baby things to my sister at the other end, and to my mom across from her. My mother, later, told me she has no recollection of me trying to talk.
My siblings, on the other hand, all got their stories heard, and shared, even two or three times, but for shear pleasure, not because they didn't hear.
The only time the eyes were on me was when Matthew started acting out.
From there on, it progressed. Downhill. Fast. He screamed. FOR HOURS! We had to leave before my brother opened his gifts and before he blew out his candles to get Matthew home. He screamed the whole way home. Got him home and upstairs, rocked him with a bottle, and he was FINALLY a happy camper. I wanted to cry. I was so drained, emotionally, my throat hurt from trying to make myself heard, and I couldn't even get my own child to be happy for an hour. I felt so inadequate. Correction: FEEL.
What is it about being a middle child that does not go away, even when you're grown and have a family all of your own???
