The Sunday Routine That (for once) Wasn't Routine: WIWS

Happy Sunday! I am proud to announce that this is the first Sunday in 13 years that the getting ready for Mass routine was {pretty} smooth sailing. And, by that, I mean the following:

1. No one yelled from the rafters, "Mom, I can't find my ________________ (insert lost item).

2. No one bled on their freshly washed and pressed Sunday duds (because Sunday has somehow become scab removal day or "let's wrestle near sharp pointed objects" day).

3. All accessories remained in tact in the dressy duds application process. (Belts are designated weapons until securely buckled around the waist and, therefore, we break at least one each week. I so wish suspenders were in!)

4.  All shirt sleeves remained clean and snot-less (we are a high allergy household still in training mode when it comes to the fine art of using a Kleenex).  Training boys in the area of good hygiene requires strong constitution and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.  Just sayin'.

(There's actually 17 items on my list, but since it's Sunday, I'll just leave you with the Cliff's Notes version of the chaos, because really, you should be napping, or golfing or reading something more exciting than this!)

(Charlie struts into my room every single Sunday and asks, "Am I handsome, Mom?" Then, it's "Would you like to comb my hair, please?" I absolutely love the stage he's in!)

Every Sunday, our routine is pretty much the same.  I get up an hour before everyone else, prep and lay out the boys' clothes and enjoy a few moments of quiet before the morning storm comes rollin' in. The moment the troops come thundering up the stairs, there's no turning back, it's Craziville all the way up to the church doors.

It wasn't until we arrived at Mass that I realized we actually managed to assemble ourselves today without the usual disasters (see item's #1 - #4).  And, AND to top it off, Steve always makes the coffee on Sunday mornings and it's my favorite cup of the week, because he delivers it to me with a kiss while I'm trying my best to look lovely for him! If I knew how to type those cute little heart symbols, I would cover this page with lots of them just so you would know how much I love him. I'm a lousy hashtagger too. So, I love him, a lot, and that's that.

With a baby soon to make his/her appearance any day now, I know that this flawless routine we managed to pull off this morning will more than likely go down in a flamin' blaze of glory. But, until then, I'm going to relish every ounce of parental success I'm feeling today, which just so happens to make all of the swelling and sciatic pain much more manageable!

A few weeks have passed since I've flashed ya'll a photo of le womb. I know you all want to see how outie my outie actually is don't ya?

A lady at Target actually asked I'm bothered by the (obvious) fact that my belly button is so noticeable sticking out through my shirt. To which I replied, "Well, with all of the young ladies who can't seem to find anything better to wear than shorts with an inseam that can only be measured in millimeters, I doubt anyone is too concerned with the (offensive?) state of my bellybutton." I know I'm always leaping up on my modesty soapbox and, honestly, now that my sons are growing up, I'm even more passionate about the topic.

{Sigh.} Dads, please help your daughters to see and believe their worth, their dignity. Please take them shopping, and tell them with all sincerity that modesty is beautiful. Please do it for them and for all of the sons out there who need to see a girl's heart and mind first, not her skin.  

Anyhoo - here we are, 38 weeks, belly button bump and all!

Okay, the pants are a little baggy, but at this stage of the game, style plays second fiddle to comfort. 

And, nothing fits. At all. Except pajamas, which, well, aren't proper public attire, even at Wal-Mart.

Wide Leg Linen Trousers: Marshalls

Tee: Old Navy

Scarf: The Feathered Nest

Wedge Sandals: Old Navy

Earrings/Bracelet: Francescas