MY VERY BAD SUNDAY

I usually like Sundays. In fact, they are my favorite day of the week. Yesterday was not my favorite. It probably ranks somewhere in the top 20 for awfulness.

As I sat in church I looked down and saw I had forgotten to put new fingernail polish on. Every single finger except two had missing bits of polish. That's how it started.

When the Primary kids sang I thought, Maybe my grandchildren are going to sing in their ward today at one o'clock and I will get to see them (I was going to attend Trent and Michelle's ward at 1:00 because Meghan was speaking.)

Then I slept through the Father's Day talk. It was my neighbor who I adore, but I slept. I'm sure he was brilliant. I slept, just like an old High Priest with a comb-over.

Then in Sunday school the room was hot! The teacher had beads of sweat forming on his forehead and I spent the time watching them get bigger and bigger instead of listening. (I'm sure I'm borderline ADD.)

In Relief Society the teacher showed the twenty-six minute video THE LAMB OF GOD and it distressed me. I have tender feelings for the Savior and when I saw some of the things he went through in his last days on earth...well, it made me physically ill. Heartsick. For twenty-six minutes I watched and was sad and then sadder.

I was going to go home before I went to Pleasant Grove to Trent and Michelle's ward but I took my neighbor home and we sat in her driveway and talked about all the troubles we both have and when she finally went inside I didn't have time to go home--or so I thought--and so I drove and worried about both of our troubles. For twenty minutes I worried and fretted and mentally wrung my hands.

When I got to Trent and Michelle's ward I was way early. I sat on the second row, like they always do but they were late. They must be in the back, I thought as the Bishop started the meeting five minutes late--Mormon Standard Time. And indeed, the Primary kids DID sing. But, not one of them was a grandchild of mine! That's when I finally realized I was in the wrong church house.

I had to endure the rest of the meeting, BECAUSE I WAS ON THE SECOND ROW AND COULDN'T JUST LEAVE WITHOUT MAKING A SPECTACLE OF MYSELF, knowing Meghan gave her talk and I didn't hear it. The kids probably sang and I didn't see or hear them. The woman who talked in the meeting I was in was also named Meghan. She cried all way through her talk because her dad was so SPECial. I wanted to shake her. (Bless her heart) The man who spoke after her, made a feeble joke and then talked so soft I couldn't hear him, but to be honest, by then I was so distressed I didn't care.

After church I drove around, wondering what church house I should have been to and then I drove home--I had been gone from home exactly six hours--and as soon as I stepped in the door I broke down and bawled. For an hour I bawled. Phil and Elizabeth didn't know what to do with me. (Phil had been at his BYU ward, that's why he wasn't with me.) I sobbed and boo hoo'd and hiccuped and got my Sunday clothes all wet. I handed Phil his Father's day gift, unwrapped, and said, "Here's your crappy Father's Day gift," and didn't even give him his card that I paid three dollars for. I finally went to bed.

I didn't fix dinner. Phil ate leftovers. Alone. Happy Father's Day, to you, dear Phil. And because of my attitude it was a probably his worst Father's Day ever.

And so, on all counts, I was a failure. A freaky-nail-polish-peeling, sleeping-in-church, ADDish, despondent, going-to-the-wrong-church, bawl baby, ruining-Phil's-Father's-Day failure.

If you had a worse Sunday than me, then, dear ones, you have my sympathy and love. Of course, you have my sympathy and love anyway. Sympathy, because I know we all have trials and problems and heartaches and my love just because I can. And do.

Today is a better day but I slept almost all day. And now It's thirty-three minutes after 1:00 AM and what am I doing still up? I'm setting myself up for another tired day. I don't have enough sense--as my Mom used to say-- to pound sand in a rat hole.

PS After I got home from church I checked my cell phone and at 12:58 Trent had called me and also sent a text saying where to come to church. I don't take my cell phone to church with me.

PPS At nine o'clock Meghan called me and read her talk to me. How I love her. It was a great talk and I loved it. It was about the Priesthood and one part was about when her mom had been very sick for several days and Trent and one of their home teachers gave her a blessing and she got well. And then I worried...did I know she was sick seven years ago? Did I take dinner to her or come and tend the kids? I don't remember doing it, she needed me and I probably wasn't there. More failure. Oh me, what a day. Even the best thing of the day--Meghan's talk--and I find a way to make myself feel guilty.

And if you are a woman reading this, you know exactly what I am talking about. We feel guilt, even for things we MIGHT or MIGHT NOT have done seven years ago. Oh me. Why are we like that?