We rented the Hernsmeier farmhouse on Cottage Grove Road in the early 1960’s. Paul, the handsome young teacher and coach at Monona Grove, left his stay-at-home wife and little daughters for work Monday through Friday. But when the weekend arrived, the itinerary changed a bit.
I had a few hours opportunity to do such exciting chores as taking the car all by myself to grocery shop and find out what other adults were doing, and when back home again, begin preparations for Sunday.
We belonged to Bethel Church, Madison’s largest Lutheran Church, only a block or so north of the Capitol. Why did we join Bethel rather than a smaller, closer church? I don’t remember, but I wonder if at that point in our life we were looking for status—I really don’t know. At any rate, I became a Sunday school teacher at Bethel.
I loved teaching, and spent hours preparing for each Sunday. Besides the lesson prep, I had the Carol prep. What would I wear, when would I curl my hair, yada, yada. And I’d do the same thing with Kari (4) and Lori (2). I didn’t worry about Paul, because I’d washed and ironed his cotton dress shirts (twenty minutes of ironing per shirt) earlier in the week.
On one particular Sunday, I dressed the girls in the lovely pink and white checkered pinafore dresses Paul had received at Christmastime from his wrestling team. We were so touched by their gesture and the girls looked adorable in them.
So that particular Sunday, Paul delivered Kari to her Sunday School classroom, I went to mine, and Lori and Dad drove over to State Street for a donut. We met after the hour and, following our usual pattern, found seats in the balcony for the formal church service.
Then it happened – my almost perfect Sunday ruined. As the organ played a prelude, I stared in disbelief at the girls. Poor Kari, straining at the seams of her too-small dress, while Lori looked like a poor little urchin in her baggy pinafore.
Yes, I’d done it – trying to make the Sunday morning perfect, I’d put the right dress on the wrong girl. So upset, I hustled the innocents to the restroom to exchange frocks. Paul just shook his head (in my defense, he had taken notice of the problem) and though I thought it’d never happen again, I’ve blundered through any number of like cases over the years since.
