The Steelers won, but my Super Bowl sabbath still stunk!
I used to gripe about 8:00 a.m. church because I had to dress my kids in their Sunday clothes before they went to bed on Saturday night. It was a pain dragging them from their beds to the car and it was embarrassing walking into sacrament meeting with pillows under our arms.
But honestly, 10:00 a.m. church is even worse because the kids are wide awake while they're getting ready, AND they're wide awake during sacrament meeting.
PLUS I'm two hours hungrier on Fast sundays than I used to be, which is miserable when the gospel doctrine teacher wears a tie plastered with pictures of popcorn.
How am I supposed to focus on the D&C when all I can think about is hot buttered popcorn?
But that's not why my Super Bowl sabbath stunk. This is why.
That's right. I was in a Kung Fu Panda state of mind.
And we all know what this means.
If the church had tennis courts I would have challenged my 10-year-old son's sharing time leader to a duel after primary.
She punished him for my transgressions in front of the whole primary.
Apparently I have been filling his head with all sorts of falsehoods about what to include in your prayers. My bad for telling him that God cares about what you care about so pray accordingly.
I forgot to tell him that God doesn't care about football so please don't pray that the Steelers will win the Super Bowl, especially not in primary because your sharing time leader may be a Cardinals fan and if you pray for the Steelers to win she will make you come back up to the podium and pray again, the right way this time.
And then, in front of everyone, she will tell you to stay after primary so she can talk to your parents and scold them for not teaching you that praying about the Super Bowl in primary is blasphemous (unless you pray for the Cards).
I also forgot to tell him that if his face goes bright red and he hangs his head in shame be prepared for his sharing time leader to say to him, "Oh, don't try to act all sad!"
It's unfortunate that she doesn't know I have a blog and a posse.
In a way I feel like it was my fault that he raced home from church and locked himself in his bedroom and hid under the covers sobbing.
I really should have given him the heads up that God doesn't care about football.
I wish I had thought to tell him how I learned this the hard way and how as a ten year old I too asked God to please let the Miami Dolphins win because it broke my heart to see my jack-apostate brother, Stephen cry. (Sorry Stephen, it had to come out eventually.)
My prayers were never answered.
But apparently my son's prayers were. (Nani nani boo boo, sharing time leader!)