I don’t want to scare you or anything, but I believe I’ve seen the first sign of the Apocalypse. In Book 5, Chapter 12 of Revealations, it clearly states:
And lo, the first sign of the Coming Doom shalt be a thick coating of yellow sneeze powder — not more than 1/8th of a cubit thick — uponeth the furniture of the outdoors. The powder shalt be inhaled by the nostrils of the wicked and they shalt sneezeth and rubbeth thine eyes and shalt be miserable all the live long day. Yet the bees shall rejoiceth at the Coming of the Pollen and maketh beautiful flowers for Jesus.
Based on high miserableness factor I’ve been experiencing lately, I’m one of the wicked (you can’t just go around writing fake Bible verses and expect to get away with it). But with the Coming of Claritin-D, I’ve experienced a modicum of relief. But keep your eyes open; the second sign of the apocalypse is a return of harem pants.
Remember last week how the Little One got drunk with power when he was the VIP in his kindergarten class? Well, it turns out the whole VIP system is a hotbed of corruption, lies and bribery. Some kids were lobbying so hard for the Little One to pick them last week that they gave him bribes, which included: a quarter, two Star Wars action figures (used), a hand-drawn piece of currently for 1001 dollars, and a love note. (The kids who gave the quarter and the action figures got picked.)
And as for Bailey, the little girl who never gets picked? Well, her status as being unpicked continues. The Little One never came through for her. What an ass! (Yes … I just called my child an ass in an effort to get a cheap laugh. What can I say … I’m a terrible mother!)
I have a new favorite time of day: the moment before the Little One goes to sleep. And it isn’t just because that means there is blessed quiet in the house for the first time ALL FREAKING DAY and I shall soon get to do WHAT I WANT TO DO. No, it is now my new favorite time of day because the Little One has started praying to God each night, and these prayers are downright hilarious.
It all started last week when we were reading a library book that ended up being about good and bad behavior. It had a pretty heavy God factor in it, but the Little One is always asking me questions about God and other things I can’t really explain well (such as “Exactly how many people have died for all time?”) so I thought “Well, it can’t hurt. Let’s read it.” One page was on praying, and the Little One got so excited about the idea of him talking to God that he decided he wanted to pray every night.
So now, each night before he lays down, he sits up with his hands in classic prayer position (like the kids in the book), closes his eyes and talks to God. The prayers are so funny, and they crack Mr. Jenners and me up every night. It is all I can do not to bust out laughing at this most sacred of times. The first night’s prayer went something like this:
Dear God. Hi. I love you. But I don’t know what you look like or where you live. I would like to know that someday. OK. Bye.
The next night, Mr. Jenners and the Little One had a disagreement about how you label the floors of buildings. The Little One kept insisting that the top floor of a building is the first floor and you count down. (In such a case, the basement of a three-story house would be the third floor and the third story would be the first floor.) Mr. Jenners (never one to give in easily when he knows he is right — even to a small child) vehemently argued the other side. So, that night, when the Little One said his prayers, he took his issue straight to the Big Guy:
Dear God. Hi. Isn’t the top floor of a building the first floor? I think so but Daddy says no. But I think I’m right. OK. Thanks. Bye.
We’re still waiting on a ruling on that one. Perhaps labels will fall down from the sky and attach themselves to a building so we can all see exactly how God wants floors labeled. I’ll keep you updated.
“Don’t mind her. She has a bad case of the skittles and she needs to get to a bathroom fast.”
I’m going to lobby the Oxford American Dictionary to get this term used as such. It is just too perfect, don’t you think?
About to be sued by the makers of Skittles for tarnishing their good name by possibly influencing up to 20 people to associate their candy with diarrhea,