Well, only at church.
(If the above statement cleared anything up for you, either you attend my church or you're clairvoyant.)
The slightly abridged version of this story picks up just before the Eucharist / Holy Communion (... slight pause. Is there such a thing as unholy communion? Sometimes the adjectives in church baffle me a wee bit.) at our church, Christ the Redeemer in Danvers. I trotted off to the nursery to retrieve Elijah from the baby mosh pit where Rachel was helping out in her regular rotation.
Somewhere along the way, I decided that in addition to being a 'good' dad, I wanted to be perceived as an AWESOME dad. Those stereotypical dads who couldn't find a diaper if it was taped to their hands? Not this killer commando. I can handle two babies like no one's business -- I do 2.5 nights a week anyway, right? So when I got there, I volunteered to take Judah for Communion as well. Rachel gave me a little bit of hard time about it (which in retrospect was simply the sweet voice of wisdom), and this of course led one of the other volunteers, a very sweet woman in her early 60s or so, to make a comment to Rachel about how I might be getting a little out of my league. Um... does anyone remember the saying, "Don't poke the bear!"
This bear's pride was officially poked. I all but demanded that Judah come with me, and in the end, Rachel acquiesced. I'm pretty sure that she was thinking, "What's the worst that could happen?
Hmmm... I'm just glad she didn't get to see what actually did happen. One of the boys immediately started grousing for food, so while I looked for food, the other one scuttled down the aisle with a speed that flew in the face of his little baby-gut. Right after I corraled him, his brother declared (a wee bit louder than I was hoping that he wanted "different else" (something different) to eat. Being on the losing end of the leverage battle here, I transported him to my shoulders, where he was finally happy, save for the angry whispers that he "was NOT going to take commooon-iyan." Judah, meanwhile, was mewing to get up where Elijah was, which even to my addled brain seemed like a bad idea. Thankfully, at this point Auntie Catherine saved the day by offering to take Judah.
Except-- Judah not only refused to go to her, he started to shake his head violently and get upset at her for offering (agh!) So I did the only thing I knew to do. Since Elijah was now covering most of my eyes, I found Judah by sonar and scooped him up on my hip.
I'm pretty sure this is where Catherine whispered somewhat gleefully, "you look like a human jungle gym."
I'm not really sure how we got through communion... it's all a bit of a blur, but I am sure we didn't desecrate anything holy, for which I am thankful.
And that's how one prideful act can turn church into MallTots. I'm pretty sure it won't happen again; then again, with my ego level, it probably will. Oh well.
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