Did I forget church?

So I posted the benign facebook status about how Sunday was perfect with its gardening, yard work, kids playing, too much sun, etc.  Then I second guessed myself.  You see, I have a lot of friends who share my Christian beliefs, and here I was posting that Sunday was perfect and omitted that we had gone to church.  I worried that those facebook friends would notice my omission, because you see, these are the friends who post whole biblical passages as their statuses.  They find something that excites them and they post it.  They post about their fantastic Bible studies.  I don't do any of that.  Every one of my friends knows that I am a follower of Christ.  I'm not ashamed of it, but just like my glasses--an absolutely necessary part of my life, I don't advertise that I use them.  You can see the glasses on my face, and I hope that you can see that I believe in the salvation and redemption found in Christ.

But let's go a little further.  You can find blog posts all over the net about how Sunday mornings are stressful.  I feel better after having read a number of them, finally knowing that my family isn't the only family that oversleeps, crams cereal in their kids, yells at the excruciatingly slow, small people who can't find their dressy, white flip-flops and are looking for them in their underwear drawer (WHAT?  Who puts flip-flops in their underwear drawer?  Why would you even look there??).  But until the anonymity of the internet and the ease of blogging, no one ever admitted that Sunday was difficult.

Admitting that Sunday mornings suck and that you end up yelling, possibly screeching, like an unholy, angry banshee mother with PMS because you know its rude to not just the Sunday School teachers, and the pastor, and the worship leaders and the little old ladies whose view you end up blocking because the only seats left are in the second row, but its RUDE TO GOD TO BE LATE TO CHURCH, ACK! was just not heard of.  Obviously, you have a discipline problem when you are yelling at your kids to find their dress shoes on Sunday morning.  And possibly that it true, but thanks to the internet I now know that my miserable, stress-filled time of herding old molasses into a minivan is not a unique problem.  I am not the only mother on earth who wakes up on Sunday morning with a sense of dread because the next hour and a half is going to plainly suck and you'll be happy to get through it.