Not So Silent Night. Or Morning.

So, today was Jack's kindergarten Christmas sing-a-long at school Mass today. The kind that parents and kids alike dress up for and the kind that have as many camera flashes popping off as Club LAX in L.A. when Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears tries to sneak out the back door. I suppose I should not mention Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan in the same sentence as Mass, should I?



I digress.



I had to bring Annie along, since her schools are all out and there are no sitters to be had. Despite the fact that I brought along tons of crayons, paper, princesses, snacks, etc., she STILL had the much-anticipated meltdown, right after Communion. Turns out she wanted one of those "white circle things" which, as Catholics know, is the sacred host that is generally not considered a snack food akin to, say, a Goldfish cracker.



So the wailing begins. "I want the white circle thing."



Me: "Here, have a princess."



Annie: "I WANT the white circle thing."



Me, putting my arm around her and whispering in a firm voice: "Here. Have a crayon. We are in church, quiet voice please."



Annie: "I WANT THE WHITE CIRCLE THING. NOW. PLEASE."



Me: "Do not yell in church. There are no more white circle things."



Uh-oh, bad choice of words. She now begins her trademark flailing and, accordingly, heads begin to turn, like the ripple effect of tossing a small rock into a pond. You know, when first graders look at you like, "Can't you control that kid, lady?" you have a problem.



I take her out of church, well, I lug her out of church and whisper a nasty "You ruined this for Jack and me" into her ear. We walk around the back of the church and by now, Jack's little series of songs is beginning and I realize I will not be able to see any of it or be able to show him I am there for him. I plop her by the Nativity scene and say, "Oooh, lambies," but she is not fooled for a second. "IWANTAWHITECIRCLETHING."



Other parents try to be sympathetic but you know they are thinking the same thing that first grader is thinking when they shoot me the Look.



As it turns out, I don't get to see more than a few seconds of Jack's angelic singing and I actually have to take her to the potty in between all of her crying and fit-throwing. She still is crying during the parent picture-taking session, which I, of course, can't participate in because I FORGOT my camera this morning, in the rush of getting everyone and their teacher gifts out the door and in one piece.



I bring her home to our house so Grandma can watch her and I go back to Jack's party, thinking this will be quiet and uneventfully sweet.



I am Bozo Bucket mom and that sounds like something cute, right? Well, one little girl knocks over the Legos, which sends two of the kids in my group looking over at her just at the moment where their heads are within centimeters. CRASH. Head to head. I look down, and one of the injured is my son, bleeding slightly but still bleeding from the mouth. The other child, my son's friend, is now really sobbing and, again, all eyes in the room are on me. Except now, the kindergartners look like they are thinking, "Man, don't you have any control over ANYTHING?", mirroring the expressions on the adults' faces.



Sometimes, I wonder why it's always me and mine. Actually, I wonder that every day.



The only bright spot in this cruddy day, the one that also happens to be the shortest day of the year and feels like the longest, is the fact that Jack and Kevin both hug me later on (Kevin says, first thing when he gets into the car, "Wow, that was embarrassing this morning, wasn't it? Everyone was asking if the screaming kid was my sister!") and tell me that it'll be all right and that they love me. And Annie keeps giving me the sideways look for the rest of the day. "You nice now?" she says. "You nice now?" I shoot back. "I always nice," she responds, then gives me a soft kiss on the cheek.



Cute and all, but that doesn't mean I'm taking her to Christmas Mass!