At Least These Guys are Single. . .

A peek at one of the Christmas presents I received this year (Thanks Moo!):

The last calendar my family gave me (which I also loved) featured Catholic priests.

Good Reading

Gotta love small town papers. Front page here:

Cat makes 'incredible journey'
Himalayan mix treks 23 miles to get home

Favorite quote from the article:

"I would have loved to have been with him, to see how he'd journeyed, how he knew how to cross the road and defend himself." - Margaret, his owner

Growing up we had several animals that figured out how to cross the road. Of course, some were more successful than others.

Want to read more? Click here to go to the Mountain Express website.

Halloween Costume

Being poor inspires creativity. Well, that and the internet.
This year for Halloween I was. . .

A PAPER DOLL

Front view:

Back view. I'm not saying I have amazing legs to begin with, but wearing 4 layers
doesn't seem to help them any.

I got the idea from here then tweaked the concept a little bit.
I took into account the doll itself, not just the clothes put on it.

Jesus was a . . . Zombie. . . ?

The lesson in sharing time today was on the miracles Christ performed. When someone was telling about the Resurrection a little boy shouted out, "Whoa! Like a zombie!" There was a slight pause (during which most of the adults tried to stifle their own laughter) before he amended his statement: "No, like a Nazi-zombie - Those things NEVER die!"

Dough Bowl and Poopy Bum

Oh, Sunbeams. They sure know how to make a Sunday fun. Every week is a new adventure; sometimes every minute. Take today: There were only two of them, Max and Della, but that was all it took to keep things fun from beginning to end.

From Beginning:

The lesson was on families so I brought some of my family photos to help me explain how people are related. They LOVED looking at those. As Max studied one picture he would glance up at me then concentrate back down on the photo, up at me, back down, and on and on. After about a half a minute of this he announced, "You're DOUGH bowl!"

When he talks I usually get this mental image of his tongue doggie paddling through an ocean of saliva. It's exhausted. At any moment a wave will crash down upon it and all will be over; there will be saliva everywhere and Max will never speak again. However, it had been three weeks since I last taught the class and in that short amount of time it was if his tongue had learned a simple stroke that gave him a fighting chance against small waves. Despite the improvements, I had no idea what he meant. I smiled at him and he went back to studying the picture. He glanced at me and back at the photo then stated, "Yeah, you're DOUGH bowl."

I had no clue what he was getting at so I asked, "Max what does that mean?"

He pried his eyes from the picture to give me a look that said, "Are you stupid?" then responded, "You know... DOUGH bowl."

Nope, not at all (the only thing I could think of was that he thought I was either pale or squishy like dough - maybe both). Instead of pushing the matter I replied, "Oooh, okay."

He seemed satisfied and went back to studying the picture. Right then Della piped in, "You do look adorable!" That's what he was telling me! Thank goodness 4-year-olds understand one another so I could appreciate what Max was trying to tell me.

I have a feeling that if he ever gets a handle on the whole speaking thing he's going to be a little heart breaker.

To End:

Towards the end of the lesson Della announced, "I need to go poopy!" Lesson over. I thought it was best not to wait so the three of us headed to the women's restroom. Max didn't need to go so he paced back and forth and slid along the wall. Then, two things happened at once: Max decided to open and close the main door to the bathroom while Della decided to give us a very loud play-by-play of her efforts to relieve herself

"Doo-da-doo. . . I still have to go poopy!"

grunting

"This is going to take a while!"

grunting

"I'm still not done!"

more grunting

"Whoa! This is a BIIIIG one!"

I'm trying to get both of them to alter what they're doing ("Max, come keep me company"; "Della, inside voice, please") when the future sports broadcaster announces she is done and takes me by surprise:

"I need you to wipe my bum! I don't know how."

What? Did I hear that correctly?

"You can come in now. I unlocked the door but don't let Max in. . . MAX! STAY THERE! YOU CAN'T COME IN!"

Unfortunately, I had heard correctly and was now faced with the task of wiping a four-year-old's poopy bum. I've never had to do that in my life and had no desire to do it at that moment. When I agreed to substitute for the regular teacher she did not mention that this was part of the job. When I taught the class for a six week stretch earlier this summer I NEVER had to wipe anyone's rear end that whole time. I wasn't quite sure what to do so I said the first thing I thought of (outside of "Your mom and dad are both just around the corner in the Primary room. With Max opening and closing the door they probably know their child needs her bum wiped. Why aren't they coming to help?"). I said, "Okay, Della, can you hold your dress up and stand?"

"NO!" she replied. "I'm going to hold your leg!"

Still seated on the toilet she leaned forward, practically folding herself in half, and put my leg in a death grip. She did all this before I even had time to react to what she had said. The next thing I knew I was losing circulation to my right leg and trying to reposition myself to accomplish the task at hand without making her fall from her perch (not easy to do with a child latched to your leg).

A few wipes later and I was no longer able to claim that I had never wiped a poopy bum. I said the magic words, "All done." She released her hold on my leg, jumped off the toilet, pulled up her panties and left the stall. She left me to flush the toilet.

Lions and tigers and Sunbeams - Oh My!

The first week I went to church here the very pregnant Sunbeam teacher found out that I wasn't just a visitor - that I'd be living up here for a while. She told me her baby was due that Friday and asked if I could teach her class for at least a month. How do you turn down a pregnant lady when she asks you a favor in a church? Would you be haunted by the ghost of Christmas past (way past) for years to come if you did? So, despite the fact that I've rarely been around children for long periods of time (especially ones without older siblings that I can pawn off various babysitting duties to), I agreed.

Shocked to learn. . .

Sometimes at the end of a run I like to throw in a sprint before I cool down. I blame "runner's high" for the brilliant idea I had this evening that:

speed = hurdling prowess.

It does not, nor does it compensate for using an electric fence as a hurdle.
If that wasn't enough to scare me away from trying to jump over anything ever again, I found this picture:


As best as I can tell this runner starts out as a she. You might think that the arm hanging out the back of her head and the fat bulge on her leg helped me come to this conclusion but I'd have to say the real give-away was the added support in the bust area. However, by the time she reaches the hurdle she is definitely a man.
I was feeling lucky that the electric fence was not on but now, that I understand the dangers associated with this sport, I'm glad I didn't clear the fence.