I am that immature

Yes, I know all you people who read my blog think I am perfect, always keep my cool, know how to handle anything life throws at me. Basically I am June Cleaver. Well, I am about to burst that bubble. You will now understand why I thank God for a wonderful, patient husband, who finds my immature antics somewhat adorable and cute.

For the past several Sunday's, after church, Rori has had practice for the Christmas musical. So after church we eat lunch together in one of the Sunday School classrooms and then Bill, the boys, and I head home. We have decided that picking up Little Ceasars Pizza is the easiest option for us. It's $5 for a pizza and then I don't have to worry about packing lunches the night before for all of us. This Sunday, I was in charge of picking up the pizza. Actually I was picking up three pizzas because there were two families that were going to have some. I also was bringing Brendan with me. So, I called Bill and asked him to meet me by the door, because they are locked, so that he could open it and let me in. When I pulled up and had unbuckled Brendan and was carrying the pizzas in one arm and Brendan in the other, I realized he was probably going to be meeting me at the door on the other side of the church. That door made much more sense than the one I had picked. He tried calling me, but I couldn't get to the phone as I had no free hands. I was annoyed that I had told him the door that didn't make sense and I was annoyed that he didn't pay attention to the fact that I said the door that didn't make sense. So I put Brendan down and the pizzas down and dialed his number. He didn't answer. I dialed it angrilier (is that a word?) this time. He still didn't answer. People were looking at me sitting on the sidewalk with a baby and three pizzas. I called it again. No answer. I was starting to sweat. I hadn't had breakfast. I was debating just eating pizza with Brendan on the sidewalk and just waiting for someone to come find us and let us in.

Bill ended up calling me--his phone hadn't rung for some reason--and I told him I was at the other door. He must have run to the door I was at, because he was there within about 5 seconds. I huffed in angrily because he hadn't listened to me and been at the right (but wrong) door. I am completely aware that I am directionally challenged, but I don't like to be anything less than perfect. So, in my immature retaliation, I took his unopened can of Coke and shook it :) Yep, I'm that immature. Bill just laughed and told me he loved me. Thank God my husband is a wonderful representative of Christ's love for His church. For whatever reason, Bill loves me unconditionally and forgives me seventy-times seven for my immature behaviors. And I am even more thankful that Christ forgives my immature behaviors. It's mindblowing for me to think that He loves me even more than Bill does.