Here we are in the first week of March, the time of year most New Year’s resolutions run out of gas. My New Year’s resolution (aside from the staple of dropping a few pounds) is to attend church regularly and begin giving my 4-year-old son Tyler what my mother calls “a religious foundation.”

Each Sunday I meet a good friend of mine and her two boys, and we attend the service together at St. Francis United Methodist Church in Cary, where she is a member. The buddy factor was enough to get our boys excited the first time. But as the weeks have progressed, we’ve had to sweeten the deal to gain compliance. Now we promise lunch and ice cream at McDonald’s after the service.

I have been steadfast for weeks now, cajoling Tyler to put on nice pants, giving him my “talk to the hand” look when he starts whining about wanting to play outside instead. I curse more in the hour it takes to get out the door than I do all week. On the drive there, I ask for forgiveness and try to get to the church before the service starts.

Typically, all the boys go with us to the sanctuary for the first 15 minutes and then the younger two (including Tyler) go to Sunday school, the moment at which I heave a big sigh of relief and sit back to enjoy the hand bells and magnificent choir.

A few Sundays ago, Tyler refused to go to Sunday school because my friend’s younger son had been sick and stayed home. He wanted to stay in the sanctuary with me. That was a mistake. By the end of the service, he was nearly rolling around in the pew, and I had feelings far from Christian. I contemplated clobbering him in front of the congregation, but didn’t want to disrupt the service any more than we already had.

I am trying not to give up on my New Year’s resolution, but it is difficult, as are most things worth doing. But the services center me, and I enjoy the time spent with my friend and her kids. I know Tyler is learning too and becoming aware of what God is all about.

This past Sunday, however, was a true test of my resolution resolve.

Again, Tyler refused to go to Sunday school. But I was having none of that.

“You have to,” I pressed. “It’s a rule.”

“Why does Nick get to stay?” Tyler asked, referring to the older boy.

“Because he’s in first grade. You have to be in at least first grade to stay in the big church,” I lied, herding him toward the back of the Sunday school line. Tyler eyed me uncertainly. He was onto me or would be soon.

That particular Sunday, however, my win was short lived. On Communion Sundays, the kids come back to the sanctuary before Communion and the offering.

As the collection plate was passed, I motioned Tyler to put our offering on top. The gold plate landed gently in his arms and he contemplated it.

“Go ahead,” I urged gently, smiling at the usher with my best isn’t-he-darling smile. But Tyler decided he’d rather have that bill for himself along with a few more, being that they were all piled so enticingly and easily accessible. I stopped his free hand from pilfering and tried in vain to get him to release our contribution from the other.

“Put it in,” I whispered.

“But, I don’t want to … I want to keep it.”

I smiled again at the usher while the organ droned on. We were the last people in the last row and the possibility that we were going to hold things up began to loom. I could feel my face redden. “Put it in,” I growled urgently in his ear, this time prying the bill from Tyler’s hand and quickly giving the plate back to the usher, amid Tyler’s objections.

So, we’ve got some work to do yet. They say charity begins at home, and I’m trying. But Tyler seems more intent than ever on holding onto those dollars bills. The other day at the park I offered to buy him a lemonade from the vending machine, and he said he’d rather have the dollar instead.

Smart kid.

So church attendance is having a good effect on Tyler; I’ll admit it’s not quite what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. Now if I could just quit cursing and lying — and be on time — we’ll be just fine.