Spiritual Moments

Ahh, family home evening, the one night a week where our family gathers together to learn about Lamanite toileting habits.

Tonight Deacon had the scripture. "Let me go get the dictionary," he announces, running off. "Dictionaries have great scriptures in them!"

He returns with a pocket-sized German-English dictionary and begins reading. "The Lamanites pooped fire out of their bums."

He turns the page. "Then they stuck their fingers in the fire, and their fingers were dead!!!"

He continues to read about various body parts getting burned by fire, until he announces, "Then their whole bodies fell in the fire, and they died. But they came back to life. There they are behind the couch! And they're shooting me!"

At which point screaming erupts as all the children run from the Lamanites.

Calm is restored, and McKay teaches us the story of the Tree of Life. I'm asking the children to explain the symbolism behind the fruit, the iron rod, etc., and they're doing remarkably well. I'm impressed. Then I ask, "What does the great and spacious building represent?"

Parker responds, in all seriousness, "Barack Obama."

The lesson went downhill from there. "What could be some of the filthiness of the world, that the river could be representing?"

Parker had an idea. "Like those bikini girls in Las Vegas with an American flag on their bikinis."

I'm wondering how Parker knows about Las Vegas bikini girls, as I answer, "Yes...that could be filthiness."

McKay interrupts, "Wait, I thought the dirty river was chocolate milk."

Trying to bring a little spirituality back into the lesson, I conclude with a question. "So, what do you learn from the story of the Tree of Life?"

Parker exclaims, "Never wear a bikini! Especially if you're a man!"

Yep. That's family home evening around here.

A Reasonable Battle

I’m exercising when Deacon comes bursting into my room, swinging a shoelace.

“I’m Indiana Jones and this is my rope,” he declares, his shoelace twirling circles in the air. “Watch out! There’s a giant rock rolling towards us!”

Deacon dives out of the way, doing a few rolls across the floor for good measure. “That was a close one.”

Parker enters the scene, shooting a Nerf dart gun at Deacon. “I am a bad guy!” he declares, rapidly firing foam darts.

"Not today!” Deacon yells, charging straight at Parker with his shoelace swinging.

After a few minutes of intense dart gun and shoelace fight, it becomes apparent to Deacon that his shoelace is no match for a rapid action Nerf gun. He does what every superhero should try in the heat of battle. He walks straight up to Parker and says in a calm voice, “I am the good guy. You cannot shoot me. You are the bad guy.”

When all else fails, try attacking your enemy with reason.

May the Force be with You

Five minutes into Sacrament meeting today, the first counselor announces the opening song.

"We will now sing on page 60, 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'"

Parker excitedly asks, "Are we singing a Star Wars song?"

Music was making Parker think today. The congregation was standing to sing the rest hymn. In the quiet lull of singing between verses one and two, he asked, "Why don't these pews come equipped with built-in whoopee cushions?"

You have much to learn, young Parker.

Falling With Style

My children dress themselves, so this is normal attire.

As is this.

And this.

So it is no surprise that today Deacon dressed himself in Buzz Lightyear pajamas. Especially since he's Buzz Lightyear about 50% of the time around here.

"I'm Buzz Lightyear," he told me. "I come in peace."

"Mom, I think if I'm brave enough I'll be able to fly."

"You mean in an airplane?"

"No, with my arms."

This worries me, as he is already a crazy little monkey who climbs and jumps off everything, and broke my blinds by swinging on the cord like Tarzan. (Though he informed me he was not being Tarzan, but rather George of the Jungle.)

"Deacon, people can't fly. I'm sorry to break it to you, but that's just how it is."

So this morning, he climbed onto my bed, and touched the red button on his Buzz Lightyear jammies. Immediately, his arms shot out to the side like wings.

"To infinity and beyond!" he declared, as he leaped off my bed.

He landed on the ground safely, and looking up with a grin, said, "I told you so."

Make A Choice

"Mom, look at the beautiful clouds! They're pink!"

McKay loves everything beautiful. Just last week I caught her drawing with sidewalk chalk in the rain. "The rain makes the chalk beautiful!"

Tonight, however, she was entranced by the clouds. Her enthusiasm dampened when I spotted lightning. I, personally, love lightning storms. My kids are terrified by them.

"Quickly, Deacon," McKay admonished, "run inside."

Deacon, being Deacon, stood his ground.

"Deacon," McKay said, "lightning can kill you. You have a choice. Do you want to be a dead Deacon or a not dead Deacon?"

Deacon made a beeline for the door.

Good choice, kiddo.

Childhood Confession

My sister, Riki, is pregnant. Really pregnant. So pregnant that her baby is coming out whether or not he wants to on Monday. But, as any woman who has ever been nine months pregnant knows, five days is a very long time to wait for a baby. So I'm going to do by best to help assist her by irking her into labor. Induction by annoyance--this is definitely going to work.

It is time to confess about a little episode from the past when I was ten, and Riki was nine. Riki and I were fighting over an object. I say "object" because I have no idea what the thing was--a toy, a gift, a small woodland creature--it could have been anything. My recollection of "Object X" is gone, but at that time we both needed Object X so desperately that we would have ceased to exist without it. So, I did what any loving older sister would do. I grabbed Object X out of Riki's hands, ran like a maniac down the hall, and locked myself in our bedroom with it.

Riki responded the way any adoring younger sister would. She tried to break the door down with her brute strength. Her brute strength being limited by her nine year old frame, she rethought her strategy. The door began to endure an assault by credit cards and bobby pins, while Riki vocally reminded me that I was the meanest sister ever.

I was in a pickle. I could hide Object X, but I knew that eventually I would have to leave the room. At that point, Riki would enter the room, search it top to bottom, and find the coveted treasure. The room was too small, and Riki too familiar with it, being that it was half hers, for any hiding place to go unnoticed. I had to think outside the box. Or in this case outside the room.

I did what any normal ten year old would do. I opened the bedroom window, popped the screen out, climbed out of the window, hid Object X outside, climbed back in the window, propped the screen back in the window, closed the window, and opened the bedroom door.

"Try to find it now," I said, smugly to my sister.

She turned that room upside down looking for Object X. As her frustration increased, so did my self-satisfied happiness. I never confessed, and eventually she gave up looking for the wonderful, Object X.

Sorry, Riki. I bet you're so angry you want to burst. Like maybe, even, your water wants to burst in annoyance. And if it does, trust me, you are going to be thanking me for deceiving you as a child.

Something To Touch Your Heart

I'm sitting in Relief Society, listening to the lesson, which is fairly good, when the teacher challenges us to "put some music on in your homes. It doesn't have to be a church song. Just something that touches your heart."

Suddenly the lyrics to Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart" come flooding through my mind and will not leave. One second I'm feeling the spirit, and the next second I'm silently singing Bon Jovi.

This is the first song that pops in my head? Sometimes I wonder how my mind works. I suppose if you're shot through your heart, it's a pretty good indication that something has touched it.

I can see the conversation now. "Family, after we listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on Sunday, perhaps we could throw on a little Bon Jovi? It touches my heart, and Bon Jovi advocates for 'living on a prayer.'"

Perhaps Parker's right. Maybe I listen to too much music from the 80's.