The Dangers of Parking Off-Site and Having A Cute Kid

First things first. Our church has a parking problem. With a name like Houston's First Baptist Church, that's to be expected. Houston and Baptist go together like peas and carrots. But not like wine and cheese. No, definitely not...  Anyway, to alleviate the parking headache, members are asked to park in one of the many off-site lots. We happily oblige because nothing, I repeat, NOTHING beats covered parking in Houston in June (and July and August and September and October...).

Secondly, today is Father's Day. Not just any Father's Day, but David's FIRST Father's Day. Sure, we celebrated Father's Day last year, but last year our little cherub was still in utero. Now that said cherub is here among us, Father's Day is just more... I don't know...real.

Today, we parked off-site as usual. Because I was wearing less-than-practical shoes, David volunteered to carry the little guy into church. We were just walking and talking our way through the parking lot and then this happened:

And on Father's Day no less. I just had to take a picture.  And then another picture.

And another picture.

And then another one, because I just couldn't get the angle just right.

And then, this happened:

No, that is not a cute kid. Yes, that is asphalt.

I had bitten it in the middle of the parking lot. Somehow, while paying more attention to snapping the perfect photo than where my less-than-practical shoes were stepping, my less-than-practical shoe heel stepped in a hole and down I went.

David, of course, yelled "Jennifer! Are you OK!?"  I stood up, stumbled a few steps, looked down and all I could think of was...my pants. I had ripped a hole in the knee. A big dirty, bloody hole. These were not just any pants, but my first pair of pants I had bought after giving birth to Jakob. Colored pants had just come in style last spring, but being preggo and all, I could not wear them last spring. So, the minute I could fit back into a normal people size, I hauled my size 10 booty to Gap to buy some colored pants. These very colored pants.  "Are you OK?" David said again.  "My pants." was all I could get out.  He knew I was fine.

I have no idea how my upper body landed. I was carrying Bible in one hand and phone in the other.  Neither hit the ground.  It was probably the diaper bag that broke my fall. Those things come in handy in more ways than one.

I don't mean to sound materialistic about the pants. I know it's not a huge deal to ruin one article of clothing, but when your clothing budget is as limited as ours is and your wardrobe is as 2008 as mine is, it stings a little. And not just on the knee.

Let me say that I looked real cute walking around church with torn, dirty, and bloodied pants. You know your Bible study is made up of good friends when you're not embarrassed about the situation but rather can't wait to tell the story.

Moral of the story: next time, ask David to kindly stop and pose for a photo. And maybe wear some more practical shoes.