Christmas Eve Drama

There are two Christmas Eve services at our church, and after much discussion about which one would work better for most of the kids in residence, Auntie Dot and I decided we would aim for the first service at 3:30.  We fed all the little people an early lunch, and sent them to nap early so they could be dressed and ready.  Everything was going well.  All the kids were ready by a quarter to three.  The little kids were watching a movie to keep them occupied, and my plan was to take the big kids to church early, arriving at church around 3:00 so that we could save a large swath of pew for everyone else, who would arrive very close to the start of the service so that we could avoid having the little people (who have trouble sitting quietly) sitting any longer than necessary.

Five minutes before three we lined up all the cousins in front of the tree for a photographic opportunity.  They were thrilled.  Or not.  Then I started the process of nagging my big kids to get their coats and shoes on.  And then I stopped to take a picture of my adorable niece in her pink cowboy boots and tights.  By that time it was 3:05.  I rushed to the car.

I climbed in, careful to make sure not to catch my long black skirt in the door of the van.  I rarely wear my long black skirt to church because on a normal Sunday I spend 3/4 of my time in the building crawling on the floor with three year olds, and I decided a few years ago that skirts just get in the way.  Everyone was buckled in, so I started backing up the van.  All the back up camera showed was white snow on the driveway, but when I nearly got to the street, I crunched into something.  Is that the plowgrade?  I thought to myself.  No, it can’t be the plowgrade, I answered inside my head.  Dr. Peds snow blowed the driveway yesterday after the last batch of snow, and people have been coming and leaving all the time since then.  So I kept backing up.

In just a moment, the car stopped going backward, and unfortunately it didn’t go forward either.  In fact, Dr. Peds had only snow blowed one side of the driveway after the plow came by on the street, and my van was now halfway through the plow grade and high centered in the middle.

“Start shoveling!”  I hollered at my three big kidlets in a panicked voice.  I grabbed a scoop shovel and began scooping frantically.  I realized that this was the second time in a month that I was clad in a long fancy black dress shoveling snow out of the plow grade.  The kids grabbed snow shovels and then began arguing about who was shoveling and who wasn’t, and really didn’t shovel anything at all.  Auntie Dot looked out the window and saw the commotion.  She grabbed a pair of boots and a shovel for herself, and joined in.

We shoveled with gusto.  We tried backing the van.  No luck.  We tried driving the van forward.  No luck.  We shoveled again with renewed gusto.  Forward.  Backward.  Nothing.  Repeat and repeat.  We tried cat litter under the tires.  No progress.

At 3:25 my husband and Don drove up the street.  My husband was NOT happy.  There may have been some stomping and storming on the part of his snowboots.  Don hooked the van up to his truck with a tow rope, and pulled into the neighbor’s driveway and the van rolled into the street.

Then I started crying and said that I really didn’t want to go to church anymore, but my husband sent me off with Mr. TOF, The Banana and YaYa anyway.  He kept Mr. SP to help shovel, and sent Dot with all of her kids in their truck.

Because I was a wee bit stressed, I cried my way to church as I drove, and then I sat in the parking lot and sobbed, because when I’m stressed out I get weepy and sobby.  My kids rolled their eyes and waited for me to stop, and then we got ready to go into church, just as Dot happened to drive up into the parking lot, at 3:45.  Fifteen minutes late.

On my way into the building a gentleman who lives a few blocks from church commented that I didn’t walk to church today (we often do).  I replied that I probably should have.  It would have saved me a great deal of trouble.

The eight of us marched in to the sanctuary and an usher helped us find a small chunk of space in the very front pew.  If you know me you know I HATE arriving to church late and I HATE walking in front of a bunch of people.  It was quite the parade to the front pew.  After about 10 more minutes Dr. Peds, Don and Mr. SP arrived and we squeezed them in on the pew by stacking kids on our lap.

After the service was finished The Banana remarked that it was sure a short church service.  That could be because we were only in attendance for half of it.  Although I was so stressed out that not all of the Christmas Eve service actually penetrated into my head, as I was sitting in our parcel of pew squeezed in between a lot of  bouncing kids, I still did worship.  I was glad to be there, even if it was in the very front row, and I also realized that this could possibly be the most epic Christmas Eve service in my experience.  Catastrophic, but epic.  I also realized that while I was not amused yet (I went home utterly exhausted and sobbed and weeped a bit more) I would probably be laughing about this escapade in a few days, and I probably wouldn’t ever forget it.

Lesson learned:  always look for the plow grade, even when you think the driveway has been cleared already.