The Kids Attend a Funeral
Last weekend was the funeral for a friend of the family. She was an older lady and Chris was particularly close to her, having lived in Pittsburgh for some time (where she was from). Unfortunately, Chris could not attend her funeral. He was scheduled to work on the weekend and it was mandatory, planned way in advance, not to be changed. So, feeling that I should attend anyway, I packed up the kids early Saturday morning for the slightly more than 2 hour drive to Pennsylvania.
Sarah, bless her heart, came along to avoid driving alone, using up gas, etc and I'm thinking she probably regretted not spending that $20 for some peace and quiet. The kids were in rare form, hooting and hollering their way across the state of Ohio and into Pennsylvania. My admonishments for quiet were completely disregarded and if I hadn't had to pee so ever-lovin' bad, I might have pulled over to administer some discipline. But, to their relief, I steadfastly drove on, determined to find the funeral home and, I hoped, a bathroom. A few wrongs turns and we finally found the place. I barked orders at the kids to disembark the van of torture, and we scuttled into the funeral home where I was met with hugs from well-meaning people not realizing the urgency of my mission. I stage whispered, "I have to pee!", passed off the baby and hustled everyone into the bathroom for a round of lightening potty (the service was just about to start!).
Unfortunately for me, the kids' did not improve in behavior, but on the flip side, dealing with their shenanigans during the service allowed me to distance myself from it and not bawl. We headed to the cemetery afterward and it became quite clear that the kids have little experience with these things. I was chatting with some friends, when I became aware of a shuffling at the grave site. It was nothing major and probably not noticeable to most, just my Mom senses going off. I looked round and realized, I was only in possession of baby. That was when I noticed the harried-looking funeral worker and four little heads crowded around the hole. "Woah!" I heard from one of the boys. "That's a big hole!" "Look at all that mud!", from another one. They were clearly delighted by the width and breadth of this seemingly massive mud hole.
I called the kids away from the hole. I thought the funeral worker might faint with relief. He, clearly, didn't want to tell the kids to back off, but at the same time, he looked rather nervous at the thought of them leaning any further over to peer into the hole. They came, mostly obediently, over. The casket was cradled near the grave and David hopped up on the cement pad sticking out from under it, poked the side a few times and asked loudly, "What's in there!?" "Uh, son, that's Aunt Winnie." "Huh. What's she doin' in there?" At this point in my story, when I was recalling it for Chris, he exclaimed, "Didn't you tell them what was going to happen?" Yeah, well, I see now that I didn't give them enough information.
Fortunately for my sanity, the kids settled into sleep shortly after we left and the ride home was somewhat more peaceful than the ride out.
Sarah, bless her heart, came along to avoid driving alone, using up gas, etc and I'm thinking she probably regretted not spending that $20 for some peace and quiet. The kids were in rare form, hooting and hollering their way across the state of Ohio and into Pennsylvania. My admonishments for quiet were completely disregarded and if I hadn't had to pee so ever-lovin' bad, I might have pulled over to administer some discipline. But, to their relief, I steadfastly drove on, determined to find the funeral home and, I hoped, a bathroom. A few wrongs turns and we finally found the place. I barked orders at the kids to disembark the van of torture, and we scuttled into the funeral home where I was met with hugs from well-meaning people not realizing the urgency of my mission. I stage whispered, "I have to pee!", passed off the baby and hustled everyone into the bathroom for a round of lightening potty (the service was just about to start!).
Unfortunately for me, the kids' did not improve in behavior, but on the flip side, dealing with their shenanigans during the service allowed me to distance myself from it and not bawl. We headed to the cemetery afterward and it became quite clear that the kids have little experience with these things. I was chatting with some friends, when I became aware of a shuffling at the grave site. It was nothing major and probably not noticeable to most, just my Mom senses going off. I looked round and realized, I was only in possession of baby. That was when I noticed the harried-looking funeral worker and four little heads crowded around the hole. "Woah!" I heard from one of the boys. "That's a big hole!" "Look at all that mud!", from another one. They were clearly delighted by the width and breadth of this seemingly massive mud hole.
I called the kids away from the hole. I thought the funeral worker might faint with relief. He, clearly, didn't want to tell the kids to back off, but at the same time, he looked rather nervous at the thought of them leaning any further over to peer into the hole. They came, mostly obediently, over. The casket was cradled near the grave and David hopped up on the cement pad sticking out from under it, poked the side a few times and asked loudly, "What's in there!?" "Uh, son, that's Aunt Winnie." "Huh. What's she doin' in there?"
Fortunately for my sanity, the kids settled into sleep shortly after we left and the ride home was somewhat more peaceful than the ride out.
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