Church attendance, writing, babies

Well, I didn't go to church again today and then spent much of the day in angst over it. I think I don't go because I don't like to go alone. I truly enjoy the service--the music in my church is rich and wonderful, the quiet moments of prayer are soothing, and the sermons often challenge me to new ways of thinking about my life. This morning I used the excuse (to myself) that I was enthusiastic about writing a piece I'd been putting off for a long time--and I did write it, plus polished up a newspaper column and sent it off. And I have an idea for a new column--just wish I knew where to go with it. But all of that could have been done this afternoon. My resolve is to get myself in gear and go to church next week--oh, not next week. All the kids will be here, and I'll be fixing a huge breakfast. But the next week for sure. And I think the following week Jordan and I are off to Houston for Morgan's second b'day.
Tonight Jordan and I took Jacob to Hoffbrau because I had a two-for-one thing for my birthday and it expired today. Jacob was not having a good day--his teeth hurt him and he hadn't napped. Halfway through dinner he decided he wasn't sitting in that high chair any longer without screaming. Jordan had her dinner put in a "to-go" box and left me to eat in solitary splendor. I soon joined her, and she explained that she knew he was about to have a meltdown. He had capped it all by throwing his sippee cup on the table where it spilled her glass of wine all over everything. For Jordan, that was the final straw. I'm still not sure which one was having the meltdown--mother or baby or maybe both--but I sympathize with her. We ran by Barnes & Noble to pick up something she wanted and then came home where she finished her dinner and Jacob turned positively cheerful, favoring me with his silliest grins. I don't remember teething or screaming in restaurants or any of those things with mine, but my kids tell me I have a selective memory. And I don't think we took them to restaurants until they were seven or eight. It's a new worled of raising children.