Just Another Sunday at Church

We don’t get to church every weekend but today my kids taught me a variety of things:

1) Emily taught me the importance of not having diarrhea everyday.

2) Shortly afterwards, she taught me the importance of drinking Cranberry Juice so your bagina doesn’t hurt (she cant say vagina so it’s extra funny)…

3) Vincent never sleeps but when we are at church he is magically exhausted to the point of rolling around in the pew and making orca like sounds.

4) If Nicholas stands on the kneeler he is at the perfect height to kiss my boob while I am not looking… in front of the whole congregation.

5) All my kids need to sit with me or they will die.

6) When I am with my kids, I automatically don’t hear the readings, the gospel, the homily and the reason is, is because they are fighting to the death to sit on top of me.

7) As Emily is making her way to the bathroom, she loudly makes this observation: ‘wow. They have a lot of pictures of how Jesus got dead.’

Yeah, those are the stations of the cross.

8) Emily picked up my hand and breathed on it, several times… it was like she was buffing a ring or her glasses except it grossed me out a lot more. I don’t like people breathing on me.

9) When Emily stands on the kneeler, we discovered that she is the exact height to my mid-boob. There’s nothing like trying to listen to the Gospel while your daughter is going from her forehead to my boob. ‘Mom, I am right up to here. Right here. Mom. Mom. Mom. Right here.’ Back and forth several times. Congrats you are almost to my nipple.

10) While Vincent was having a meltdown, Nicholas and Emily were saying alot of insightful things. Like telling me where the moon is and also telling me how one of their friends didn’t want to talk to Rosie. Both kids… both kids were telling me stories, I thought about life but no… they were explaining me several episodes of Fucking Cailou. That is the new official title of that stupid tv show. Here, I thought, they were going to tell me something of substance. Nope.

So yes, all of this at mass. A short sixty minutes… did I mention that we were in the second row? No? Oh yeah… second row.So everyone saw the boob kiss, the boob measurement and the fight till the death to see which kid was able to sit on me. Classic Sunday church.

Until next time,

You all have one job to do. Measure yourself next to a person at your next work meeting and then kiss the spot you measure up to. Yes, it will be extremely awkward but you will get a glimpse into my life.


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I am a mother of three small children with a wonderful husband. Having children is not as simple as black and white. Having kids is black, white and crazy. I hope you enjoy my blog of my crazy escapades.

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