One Fine Labor Day

My, what a wonderful time we had this past weekend. The people were wonderful, the singers and musicians were extraordinary, and a man with no senses would've been able to feel the presence of the Lord. And to cap it all off, a whole passle of relatives spent Sunday night at our house. We just love to have visitors, especially the kind we had. There's no kind of people like God's kind of people. But I don't think I could take another game of scrabble. Yessah, we need to find some more bored board games.

And now I have to pick on a certain some of my visitors. I know how it is to be a newlywed, and I really have no room to talk (but I'm gonna do it anyway, hehe, 'cause it's so much fun), but a few times I had to cover my eyes. Yep, you know who you are, Mister Mooner and Miz Crooner. Mmm-hmm. You thought while we were all concentratin' on Scrabble you could get away with a little moonin' and croonin', but you is busted! Ooo, you is busted so bad!

Many of us were quite aghast at the whole display (see illustration). Now y'all know, as soon as the first young'un comes along, all that right there (what have you like 'at) is gonna stop faster than a 'coon in headlights... you know that right?

When we arrived at the church Sunday night we naively assumed that we could just waltz right in and sit on down in a choice spot of our choosing. Despite years and years of conditioning otherwise. Message believers are world-renowned for arriving hours, perhaps even days or months, ahead of time to deposit napkins, towels, blankets, handkerchiefs, and so forth in seats so as to keep their seats (see accompanying illustration). I guess you could say shame on us the women for taking so long to get our their hair done *cough cough*. Us men-folk only need to run our hands through our hair and we're good to go. In fact, I've noticed that's become quite fashionable of late amongst the young folks, that is, to run your hands through your hair and leave it sticking up everywhere like you just woke up and don't know what a comb is.

And then if you can sort of let your jaw sag, like you're not quite awake enough to stop drooling, then you're really hip. Then glower at everyone through your eyebrow hair. If your eyebrows haven't grown thick and bushy yet, just pretend, like this guy here. Seriously, can you just, like, get any cooler? I mean, really?

But enough of making fun of celebrities and pop culture. For now, anyway. I must relate unto you a little tale, a tale of two children who would not sit still. And a tale of a Momma who could not contain her yearning to hold someone else's newborn babe. As many of you may know, when in a church service you often want to hear the sermon. I am often easily distracted when my kids begin to do what I call the spread-eagle sprawl, wherein they spread as much of themselves as they can across the available seating area, so as to get all comfortable and everything, and to prevent their sibling from utilizing their seating area, which often leads to someone getting distressed, resulting in a fierce peench to the buttocks and/or slaparolla with the spanky spoon.

Earlier, Monica had expressed her strong desire to assist her sister Lavinia with her newborn during the service, which I quickly forgot, as Lavi had found a seat who-knows-where, far removed from us. As the kids began to grow restless I was glad we could double-team 'em, clandestinely smacking, slapping and peenching like the Ninja parents we are (I can slap and peench without even turning my head). But then, suddenly and without warning, Monica got up, and left me alone! And then, horrifyingly, Zachary turned to me and said those dreaded words, "I have to go potty really bad".

I was thinking, "No he didn't just say that, and no she didn't just do that." If I took him to the bathroom, I would have to take both kids and Monica's purse, and then someone would almost certainly "steal" our seats (I had neglected to bring a handkerchief, you see). I began to picture Monica settling into a rocking chair in the nursery as Lavi handed her the baby. I turned to Zach and said wisely, "You have to wait until your Mom gets back." I'm sure at that moment he was thinking, "Run that right there by me again?"

Fortunately Mom returned momentarily, apparently not being able to find the youngling, and after Zach relieved himself we resumed our Ninja parenting duties. There was all kinds of slappin' and peenchin' goin' on, but no one behind us could tell, because we had become one with the spanky spoon.

On the other side of the church, my brother Ben was discovering that he needed more Ninja training. He cut his eyes sharply over to where our parents were holding his daughter, and discovered, to his great surprise, that his daughter was beatin' up Grandma. With a big smile on her face. It's fun to beat up Grandma! He wanted oh-so-much to be Ninja-stealthy, but alas, there was someone seated between him and his parents. What to do! The only available option was to lean waaay way over, across someone he didn't know, exposing himself and his actions to any childless observers who might have better ideas for disciplining children (the horror!), until he could firmly grasp Renee's hair and give it a sharp tug. Like blowing the whistle on a locomotive. Toot toot! The crowd murmured in disbelief. Ben turned and waved to the crowd (naw, just kidding). Astonished at his sudden exposure, Ben recoiled back into his seat, hoping that his little stunt had "done the trick". Whether it did or not his beside the point. And the point is...

Grasshopper, you must become one with the spanky spoon. Not the locomotive whistle.

So in the end, we had a wonderful labor day weekend, as always. We love Brother Billy Paul, Bro. Ferguson, Bro. Yancey, and pretty much all y'all (which, by the way, you can only say in the south), and shucks... it was just plain wonderful. I can't wait until next year. I can't wait until we can sit around in eternity and talk forever and ever, and never have to say goodbye.

I can't wait.