The Church Directory

Yesterday we sucked it up and took the little angel to church.  I wish I could say we went more often, but the truth of the matter is that church and the little angel's lunch are sort of at the same time.  Oh, sure.  They have an 8:15 service.  But somehow, despite the fact she usually wakes up at 5:30, we can often coax her into lying still while we attempt to recapture that extra hour of sleep.  Then we are so zombie-ridden that getting all three of us clean, ironed and out the door by 7:45 is too much to do six times a week.  So, the 10:30.

We brought along six books, two kinds of snacks, a tippy cup and three small toys.  The little angel looked resplendent in a butterfly dress sent by her auntie from a boutique in Chicago.  She garnered all sorts of compliments and smiled winningly for about thirty minutes. Then, it was lunchtime. 

As I was walking her up and down the back hall, trying to make it to Communion (my internal "it's okay to give up now" point), a helper accosted me to sign up for photos for the church directory.

Now.

First the room mother thing, and now the church directory?  Am I really that old?  The little angel and I finished our walk, and I held my tongue.  As we rushed out of the church IMMEDIATELY following Communion (bless the new vicar, but she is a windy one, and with her tight red curls covering her head, it feels sort of like having the hard-knock life explained by an older Annie), I mentioned the church directory to my beloved.  He raised an eyebrow.

"Do YOU want to do it?" he asked.

"It makes me feel old," I said.

"Do we have to?"

"I don't think so.  We can use the same methods we used for the room-mother thing.  Avoidance."

"Let's skip it this year."

"Agreed."

We glanced in the back seat.  She is awfully cute, and certainly we don't mean to avoid the church community.  We give our offering and hold the little angel out to the old ladies in wheelchairs as we pass them in the Communion line.  I just don't think we're fully ready to commit to church picnics, anything involving potluck, Wednesday-night get-togethers or photos in the directory.  I don't know any good recipes (or I do, but they're not mine, since I can barely make tuna casserole once a week).  Again, I KNOW I'm an adult.  I even KNOW I'm a parent.  But do I really, really have to be a grown-up?  Really?  I still let the little angel dance to "Funky Called Medina" when it comes on the radio.  Eek.