Or, I pretty much forgot how to exhale last week so writing something even remotely off-topic was impossible but this really did happen so you get to hear all about it now.
So I have mentioned before that the girls go to daycare in a church. This is fairly, but not terribly, weird for me: they come home with Bible study drawings in their backpacks and both adore saying their blessing in the car. Well, baby G gleefully chimes in on the AAAAAAH-men! but Little A. proudly recites the whole thing* while compelling her sister to hold her hand from across the bench seat. It's...mostly harmless, as far as I can tell. They are learning lessons in gratitude, courage, humility, and sharing, which is never bad so I am not so incredibly concerned with the larger context. Tim is a confirmed atheist and has a harder time with it than I do. If they start bringing home anti-choice or gay-bashing pamphlets, we'll change things up, is my opinion. But a just little bit of Jesus, applied correctly, never hurt anyone. Right?
Anyway, this post is not meant to discuss my kids' spiritual upbringing. This post is meant to discuss my rogue underpants.
One morning last week we all got up a little bit earlier than usual, got our act together a little faster than usual, and got on the road before schedule. Ya'll know a smooth morning is somewhat of a miracle and deserves notice. So notice it I did, and thanked both of the girls for such a nice morning before I dropped them and gave the good-bye kisses and hugs and then the extra good-bye kisses and hugs and then the very-last good-bye kisses and hugs (which are the ones I can't resist and why I am always late for work and why it is lucky my children's grandfather is my boss). And strolled out into the parking lot to get into my car to drive off to the office.
On my short walk to the car, I noticed a little scrap of fabric on the ground, halfway between my car and the front door. Right in the middle of the parking lot, basically. The fabric looked oddly familiar. It was a pretty little pattern. How odd, some kid must have lost her doll's dress or something, I thought. I got closer and realized:
Wait. Those are my underpants. Those are my underpants right in the middle of a church parking lot, the little blue stripes and flowers on the boy briefs** looking inappropriately jaunty in the glare of the sunlit pavement.
What. What? WHAT??!?! HOW???!!!??!?!
I glanced around quickly and assessed. There was no one dropping-off at that moment and only one car was headed into a parking spot. No one would know it was my underwear if I picked them up right quick. Who knows how many parents or OMG maybe the pastor*** saw my underpants!
Anyway. I stuffed them into my pocket and proceeded to my car in the strangest walk-of-shame ever. As far as I can guess, the underpants must have been static-clung to somebody or other's pants or coat and happened to fall off right at that inopportune moment. I am thankful that it was in the parking lot and not inside one of the girl's classrooms, where Little A. would have had no hesitation in offering them up for an impromptu show and tell.
SO. Lesson learned: Check ye for rogue undergarments or mortification shall be yours. I can't think of a corresponding Bible verse (maybe there is something in the Book of Mormon, I know they have weird undergarment ideas) but I am still going to cross-stitch it onto a pillow.
AMEN.
xoxo,
A
*Thank you, God, for our food, our family, our friends and our teachers. Amen!
**Little A. picked them out for me, on a Christmas shopping trip with Tim. This post just keeps getting better, right? Please don't call DHHS.
*** The pastor seems to be one of those cool-dude pastors. He drives a Jeep emblazoned with adventure-lifestyle stickers in the winter, and a Harley in the summer, and wears jeans. So maybe he is like a rock-star, totally cool with stray panties from heaven.
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