Today is my son’s theater debut, Lord, and we’re running a little late…okay, a lot late. I could never lie to You. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve totally lied to you, but you never buy it, do you? That’s why you’re God and I’m going to be 10 minutes late to the theater.

It was totally do-able until the 3-year old had to pee when we were just pulling out of the driveway. You know it’s a 30-minute drive and there’s no way that she would make it. We got to the bathroom in time, but she still managed to pee on her shoes. The sparkly Hello Kitty ones that she slept in last night because she “loves them.” It took me five minutes to calm her down and another five to find the left Cinderella slipper. Thank you that she took them as an alternative, because some days this would have been a full-scale melt down.

By the way, thank you for inventing 3-year-olds. I’m not sure why people complain about terrible twos and give threes a pass, unless it’s because parents of 3-year-olds are too tired to come up with clever alliteration.

You know that this day started off halfway on schedule…for me. Which means already a chaotic mess. I think maybe that I have too much responsibility and that you might be to blame for at least a part of that. How else do you explain this minivan full of children who are singing off-key to the Frozen sound track for the 43,000th time. Can you grant me deafness for the rest of this drive? If not, can you convince them that it’s been a long freaking time since that movie came out and they seriously need to let it go?

 Please?

I see that the answer to both of those things is no.

Thanks for that.

That’s it. I’m taking the turnpike, Lord, even though it’s expensive and I promised my husband I’d stop using it unless it’s an emergency. I think 11 minutes late to the opening of the only thing he’s ever specifically asked to do qualifies as an emergency. I hope you agree and make these fools who are driving the speed limit move the heck out of my way. What kind of person drives the speed limit on the turnpike?

Please grant me patience with foolish drivers who really, really need to learn the meaning of the word GO!!!!

For the love of Pete.

Oh, a hole in traffic. Thank you for that. I’m going to slip in there and try and ignore the GPS time thingy that says I’m now 13 minutes late. It’s a kid thing and they never start on time.

Please let this not be the one time that a kid thing starts on time.

And can you help the director be a little long winded when she introduces herself and explains the program? Thanks. Please? I’ll offer up the fact that they’ve hit repeat on the 4th track, Let it Go, 3 times now. Aren’t you sick of it by now too?

Oh, crud. Was that a cop? I’m only 7 over. Please can you let him be looking the other way?  Can we have a lesson on my lead foot another day? Thanks. Thy will be done.

But seriously, no ticket on the way there would be amazing. Thanks.

Is he moving….?

No.

Thank you, Lord.

And now we’ve hit rush hour traffic. I hate Dallas. Who are all these people and where could they possibly be going? It’s 3:15 on a Friday? Shouldn’t some of these folks be at work? I don’t want to nag, but my GPS now has me 16 minutes late. You can control time, right? Could you slow it down a bit? A little Matrix-y like? You watch movies, don’t you? I could just whip in and around the slowed down cars…

We’re not doing that, are we?

Heavenly Father, did you just hear that coughing from the back seat? That’s the 5-year-old. Someday I will ask you why, in your infinite wisdom, you gave that child the world’s weakest stomach. He’s carsick. Of course. Always. He’s the only kid I ever met who gets motion sick on a straight road. I’d like an explanation, really. I’m just curious about that one.

…and we have no bags or containers for him to puke in. Can you calm down his cramping tummy or help us find a puke bucket?

Score! The kids found a crumpled water bottle under the seat, and squished it back into shape. Thank you. If he’s going to spew, can be please spew small enough to get it into the bottle? If you can part the Red Sea, I have faith that you can narrow the flow. You know what I’m saying here, right?

Stuck. 20 minutes late. And the 3-year-old has to pee again.

Thank you for the gift of these children, the means by which you’re teaching me patience.

I’m going to just turn off the GPS now. I can’t see that it matters any more.

Just one more thing? Can you give her a bladder of iron until we get off this stupid turnpike?

I’ll just sit here on the overpass, and say my Rosary.

Thanks.

(Note: We were 30 minutes late, but managed to catch the entire second act. He was the Props Manager and helped with costuming and set design. The theater director offered him an unpaid internship. He accepted. We’ll have lots of other theater opportunities, and we’ll be sure to leave much earlier than we imagine that we need to.)