'A typical' Sunday Morning
I can't make this stuff up if I tried. I wish it was fictional. Every ounce of it. It is funny when you are on the outside looking in, but not when you're in it. With it. With him. With them.
10:45 a.m. on Sunday morning and the kids are all gathered in the front of church, sitting on the steps, immersed in the 'Time for Children.' A story is told, questions are asked, dialogue and banter following suit.
The minister asks the children if they know any good knock-knock jokes.
A boy raises his hand and says,'Penis!' Then turns to his sister and says, 'It's a joke.'
The minister pauses for a millisecond then calls on the next child.
The boy is my son and the minister is my husband.
After the 'Time for Children,' my son saunters back to our pew, sits and asks if he can spit out his gum. I say sure. As I reach for a Kleenex, he unzips my purse and spits the spearmint flavored wad, like a flippin' dip of Skoal right down it.
As I whisper sweet nothings into his obstinate ear, I carefully rake my purse for the disposed gum.
Busy with colored pencils and a doodle pad, he then asks for a tissue. I hand him a tissue as I watch him stick his index finger up his nose, procuring a booger. Instead of using the tissue----he wipes it on a hymnal.
As I stretch across my daughter to grab him and the hymnal, he looks at me, with eyes dancing, swipes the booger off the hymnal and....
sticks it back up his nose.
I guess it is better than sticking it in his mouth, but I was done. He was done.
After church, we needed a few things at the store. The closest grocer is literally 25 steps from the church, so it is easy and convenient to run in and get a few items. At the entrance, the kids see one of those $%&#@! little grocery carts that breeds demonic behavior in all children under the age of seven. I am pretty sure the person who came up with that 'novel' and 'cute' idea didn't have children. I dream of punching them in their smug, helpful, face when they tell me how ingenious and wonderful the child-size cart is.
No, it's like a giving your car keys to a 14 year-old and saying, ' Go ahead--take it for a spin.'
My one idgit climbs inside of it, while the other pushes him maniacally down the first aisle they see. I have lost any and all control in less than 30 seconds. I grabbed one item when my fingers are crushed trying to save the duo as they dump the cart next to the potato chips. My son goes face first, followed by the cart, with my daughter smashing them all-- my left hand at the bottom of the heap, entangled in the cart.
My angry whisper was hardly a whisper. The poor deli boy busied himself slicing salami. A church member scoots their cart by and waves. My children tell her we had a grocery accident. I think I bit my tongue in half.