"You shouldn't flick me! That's inappropriate!" incredulous, my five year old yelled this at me across the dinner table. (Lest you think his diction is as good as his vocabulary, it really sounded like this, "You s-ouldent fick me! Thass ina-poh-peeat.")
It was inappropriate. And no, I shouldn't have flicked him in the head (it was a good one with some resonance off his melon). However, I had to do something to express my frustration. Frustration I felt at the dining room carpet being painted pink with strawberry applesauce. Painted pink because he, for the millionth time, wasn't sitting straight at the table and knocked it down.
I know. In the grand scheme of things spilled sauce ain't so big a deal.
****
I fell in love. I fell in love with a bunch of messy, loud and very energetic ankle biters. Surprisingly, I fell in love with my Sunday School class.
It's a surprise because little kids give me the hives. I taught high school because the thought of being locked in a room with 20 smelly, talkative, busy, whiny little humans gave me anxiety attacks. Give me an attitudinal adolescent anytime.
So when church had opportunities to serve my husband and I signed up. I thought I could teach my eldest son's class every coupla weeks. Ron would help once a month for special Jubilee Sunday.
My first class was exhausting. I have 4 years old through to kindergarten. There is one child in each developmental and age level. They are intimidating. They are honest. "Is this story over yet?" They are messy. "Wook, I got glue in my hair!" They are bossy. "Give me the purple scissors!". And now they are mine.
I actually am a little bummed I don't have to teach until December. How did that happen?
***
The election is mercifully over. The battle for the soul of America is only beginning. Why am I already tired?
***
Why did the networks get rid of the blue swish to follow the hockey puck during NHL games? It made it almost bearable for me to watch. Now I have even less of an idea what's going on and I didn't have much to begin with.
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