Remember when you kept your best clothes for church only? When you had a pair of Sunday School shoes that you didn’t wear them anywhere else, except maybe to weddings? When you had a few “nice” dresses you never, ever wore to school unless there was a program and you were on the stage?
At our house, Saturdays were spent getting ready for Sunday. With 5 girls, Mama started washing, rolling and drying our hair on Saturday morning. Grandmother, who lived next door and usually fixed Sunday dinner, started cooking and baking about the same time Mama started doing hair.
And then there were shoes to polish (dad’s job, usually) dresses to press, little brother’s church pants to find and launder (look under the bed!) and offering change to distrubute.
Sunday Mornings we ate cereal and Sara Lee coffee cake (yum!) for breakfast. Most days we had eggs and bacon or biscuits and gravy, but since we wanted to be at Sunday School by 9:45 and Mama slept late on Sunday (clear up until 8:00 LOL), we didn’t have time for all that.
One Sunday morning, I got dressed and Mama combed my hair. “Sit down and don’t get dirty,” was always the rule after we were ready, so I did.
Then my new baby brother started crying. Mama brought him to me to hold while she rushed to get everyone else ready. (I had a sister 18 months old and one who was three years old as well as one three years younger than me.)
The baby cried, so I jiggled and patted and sang. He was so tiny and perfect with lots of dark, curly hair. I really like holding him when he was happy.
Then he spit up–a lot! It was so gross, and smelled so awful, it made me sick. I couldn’t help it, I threw up on him, too, which left me with a lap full of baby and vomit.
I’m not sure there are words to describe how icky that was!
Mama must have heard the commotion or maybe I started wailing, because she came running. “Oh, no!” It wasn’t a quick, “Oh, no.” It was that awful, “Ooooh, noooooo,” that every kid hates to hear, especially when it comes from their mama and is aimed at them.
And Daddy was right behind her. “What happened, Susan?”
“He threw up and it made me sick,” I answered.
“He spit up.” Mama wasn’t happy. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when it’s on you.” I cried.
I thought Mama was going to cry, too, since it was practically time to load up the car and leave for church and she had to start from scratch with two of her five kids. But as usual, Daddy made everything okay. He gave the baby to Mom to wash off and redress and told me to take a quick bath. “Just don’t get your hair wet.” (I had long curly hair and no time for a redo.)
Grandmother had come over to ride to church with us by then, so she was put in charge of keeping everyone else clean.
And we made it to church on time. Okay, it might have been the nick of time, but a nick is s good as mile. Right?
I don’t think Little Brother remembers me tossing my cookies on him, so he wasn’t traumatized for life. (As far as I know.) In fact, he loves the Lord with a joy that’s beautiful to see. He’s a deacon in his church (I think) and even leads the singing from time to time.
I’ll have to ask the crew and see if anyone else remember that Sunday morning. Do you have any Sunday Morning Memories you can share?
Serve the Lord with gladness.