Last Sunday, as I gathered my group, things got a little dicey. Toddzilla found a noodle (one of those six feet long styrofoam contraptions used for swimming - not generally found in places of worship - those ones). He was swinging it around in the presence of elderly parishioners and other such distinguished church-goers. Crockett had been dropped by above mentioned brother a few minutes earlier and was crying. (In Toddzilla's defense, he dropped the poor child because he ran up to give him a bear hug and they both inadvertently toppled over.) My baby was tired and fussy and I was trying to get him in the car seat. The girls were chit chatting with their friends, oblivious to the world around them. We were not getting anywhere fast. Or ever, for that matter.
Enter dear acquaintance mentioned above. She took one look at the scene and said, "Bless your heart, you do this all with a smile. Don't you ever cry? I remember crying all the time - and I only have two!"
Hubby would have laughed out loud if he heard that. (Hello, I've basically been either pregnant, post partum, or nursing for the last eight years - nothing even has to go wrong for the tears to flow on some days!) I cry tons, believe me. Just not much in public.
Now you know.