Monday, May 30, 2011

The parent crawl.

When I was still single I was a wee bit confused one Sunday when I was walking to the bathroom because I witnessed what I affectionately call the "parent crawl." I was confused, but would not only learn, but would often use, this much needed tool. Our Sunday school classrooms have doors split in two so you can either just have a half door, which most rooms do, or you can close the top part and have the whole door. Since most rooms, especially the baby rooms, have the top half open this proves problematic when a parent of one of the wee babes is walking by. So the parent's crawl past the door. Some ducking backwards, like they're doing the limbo, some scuttling along like a crab, and others doing a combination of any and all because they are exhausted from the baby they are hiding from. 
I usually tend towards the last. Actually, I usually almost forget and right as I approach my son's classroom doorframe I go "oops" and I hit the deck like I've been shot at by a machine gun. I then slither like a snack across the threshold. Hopefully I'm not wearing a skirt so I can stand up, regain what little remains of my dignity, and carry on walking down the hall. Hopefully there aren't new people. Being ushered by the pastor. All looking on, slightly frightened and worried and thinking so loud you can almost see the cloud bubble over their heads "is she special?" 
One Sunday I was scuttling and another mom came scuttling the other direction. We grinned at each other. This past Sunday there was an epic fail at the parent crawl. I was teaching down the hall so I realized early that I would need to start the crawl. I probably should have paid more attention though as the teacher was actually holding my son, in the door frame. Halfway into the crawl I looked up, at my son's bewildered face, and I muttered "crap." He had this look on his face: so that's what you've been doing!! Luckily the teacher just laughed at me but as I went down the hall, having retrieved the much needed cup of coffee, I could still hear my son's wails. Oops. 

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