I completed Luke's walrus code assignment this weekend and got 40/39. An extra credit point for writing out in walrus code, "I love you." It was insanely complicated and took me over an hour, having started it at 7am on Sunday morning. He was excited when he got home from Dad's yesterday afternoon that I'd done my homework, probably figuring I'd act typically and tell him I didn't have time or energy to do what he asked. He graded it in red pen, critical of my drawing skills of the walrus symbols but giving me credit where credit was due.
Jesus had an easier time raising Lazarus from the dead than I do waking my son up for school in the morning. He'll wake up at 7:30 on the weekends with no problem on his own, but try and get him up at 7:15am for school? Forget it. It takes til 7:30 to get him out of bed, despite my "Come on Luke, get up buddy, time to get ready. You have to pack your school bag...Come on. Here are your clothes....let go of your walrus....go put your Axe on..." It's a stone drag and my least favorite part of the day*.**
*Unless you count working the front desk at work on Monday mornings. That truly sucks.
Yesterday at church, emotions were intense. The family of the late baby were there and more upbeat and hopeful than I ever could have imagined. I gave my bassist a big hug, and he's a big, strapping man, and he was comforting ME rather than the other way around. He was comforting everyone. He'd been to see his son in prison earlier in the morning, and felt good about that, as his son, the accused murderer, was doing alright. "He's still my son. The truth is the truth, but it's all in the Lord's hands," he said. "God is good, God is good," he repeated. How he could have such seeped such positivity in light of such tragedy is truly a miracle. My mom approached him and burst into tears, and he comforted her with an "I know, I know. But it's going to be alright." I told him how happy I was to hear he's playing with the band next weekend, and I told him we're all here for him...I didn't know really what to say.
Band practice will be intensely emotional. Will it be inappropriate to be light-hearted and have fun practicing our music? Should we all be morose or would it be better to be uplifting for J and help him in his quest to move on with his life? We start practice out with a devotion every time, but the guitarist said this time, he thinks we'll just pray in unison for one of our own. "All for the Lord, it's all for the Lord," the bassist always reminds us. And we're there to praise the Lord, that's for sure.
Speaking of the band, I received some nastiness yesterday at church too. I had just finished greeting the pastor and saying "See you next weekend!" when I was approached by one of the elder stateswomen of the church. She's 92, has never worn a seat belt and never will, has to sit on the only cushioned chair at Bible study, and is a colossal pain in the ass, opinionated crotch.
She stood there looking like she was waiting to talk to me, so as I looked around for my ma to leave (she was busy talking/crying with the late baby's grandma, who swore she saw Jesus holding the baby during communion). The Old Lady was just standing there, so I said good morning to her. She said, "You know, Andrea, I've BEEN to that Saturday service. That 'CONTEMPORARY' service. And THAT'S not CHURCH to ME," shaking her head. "Well, it IS to ME," I replied. I told her, "There are lots of different ways to worship God, and that's just one of them." I SO wish I had the balls to be snarkier in person than I can be when I write. I just can't think of good comebacks in the moment.
No, I wouldn't have told her, "Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself." I guess my response was appropriate. Thankfully, Mariah approached me to save me from the Old Lady, Mariah being one of my vocalists who's temporarily left the band and informed me she wants to start singing with us again. "Thank God, Mariah, because *I'm* singing." "Oh, Annie. That's not good. You can't play and sing at the same time!" "I realize that," I said, "Please come back!!!" I should've said, "Mariah, you'll never guess what The Old Lady just said to me about our band!" and put her on the spot with her nasty comments, but I didn't think of it at the time. I was too relieved to get out of the conversation.
Time to go awaken the seemingly dead, no-doubt grumpy Luke.
**20 minutes into the morning routine, and we've already had the tighty-whitey vs. boxers argument (I caved and let him wear boxers), the "why is this shirt so stretchy?" random question, the "where is my belt?" drudgery, the "why are you being so mean?" lament, and a walrus honk in his bedroom that surely meant a "Fuck you, Mom." He's eating breakfast slowly, telling me that I'm talking too loud and farting at the table and blaming it on me or the walrus. His breakfast was meticulously laid out, as were his clothes, and he's slowly, really slowly, waking up. By the time we drive to school in 20 more minutes, he'll no doubt have nuggets of utterly non-sensical outbursts like he did the other day, when he abruptly proclaimed, "I'm Gerald Ford."
Try and have a maggot-free Monday.