Nothing but the blood of Jesus

Lately, every time I drink from the common cup at communion, my 3 year old is jealous.

"Mommy," he says, "I'm so sirsty!"

The boy loves to drink, night and day, so as much as I would like to think his motives are Christ-centered, I think it is pure desire for beverage.

I can dream, however, that he is thirsty for the blood of Jesus. It can't come soon enough!

Lofty soles

The scene: Our side yard, this afternoon in the good weather. All the kids are playing nicely (surprise, surprise).

One child comes up with the highly underplayed game of "Take off One Shoe and Throw it Up in the Air!".

I am paying bills at the computer and learn of the game in this way:

"Mommy, mommy!! ___ took ____'s shoe and threw it up on the roof!!! It's still up there!!"

The child delivering this news cannot help but smile. The game! The game has an unexpected bonus! Who would have ever dreamed that such an innocent (!) game would have such an exciting outcome.

Daddy had to rescue the shoe tonight in the dark. It's a good thing the shoe was up there. After all, what would Daddy have found to fill his time tonight?

It's black and skinny, and LOST!

Where is it? Is it under the recliner? Is it in between the couch cushions? Is it in the refrigerator? Is it (gasp!) in the drawer where it belongs?

Of course not! It is in none of these places.

Ah, the elusive remote. No matter where I last lay it, little hands hasten to move it far, far away. When questioned, they have "no idea" and "I don't know - I didn't have it last!".

And while we're on the subject, why will I spend seventeen minutes looking for it, when it would be much, much easier just to change channels by hand, the old-fashioned way? I'll tell you why: it seems inherently wrong to get up (for heaven's sake!) when I want to flip channels during commercials or boring parts. Heaven forbid I get a little exercise while being a couch potato.

Anyway, I think I need one of those little thingies that you attach to items so that if you misplace them you can track them quickly.

That, or fewer children.

I have five kids!!!

Okay, duh.

I have had five kids for almost four months now, but there are times when I just look at the baby and think, "Ohmygosh! I am the mother to FIVE children! FIVE children look to me for their basest needs! FIVE children depend on me for guidance and support! FIVE children make a lot of noise!"

Sometimes when I am doing my Routine Scan and Count of the children, I find about 3 or 4, a nice size number, and I think I am done. Then a millisecond later I realize, no, 3 or 4 isn't good enough. You have to locate FIVE children, you moron! There are days when I truly have trouble believing I have so many kids.

How on earth do the Duggars do a Routine Scan and Count?

Halloween horrors

Okay, so the worst part of Halloween isn't the expense of costumes (though it is large, since I am not crafty enough to make anything decent enough to wear out of the house). It isn't the "tricks" that neighborhood kids play on you when you are not home. It isn't the cold weather or the rain. It isn't the arguing over who got the best pieces of candy.

It is the very fiber of Halloween, the candy itself.

There it sits, in a giant bowl, looking all innocent, but I know the truth. It may look like fun memories from trick or treating, but what it really represents is serious weight gain. Mucho poundo. Who, I ask you, who can pass by such a bowl without taking one tiny little piece to munch on? The answer, sadly, is not me. It wouldn't be such a catastrophe, if I, say, passed by the bowl once a day. That would be okay. But, unfortunately, I pass by it constantly. As I do my work throughout the day, it sits there calling me. And I answer, most every time.

I have decided that January seems a fine time to work on a little post-pregnancy weight. Because after I take care of the Halloween candy, it will just be Thanksgiving, with Christmas right on its heels. Who needs the stress of trying to lose weight then? I think I will just embrace the chocolate for now.