Rules, Schmulz

It has been a while since the kids and I went to Wednesday night supper at church. First, I'd been on this crazy restrictive diet. And second, I got really tired of doing the same thing at church that I do at home. "Eat at least one more bite of your vegetables before you can leave the table." "You love chicken nuggets. Why won't you eat them?" And on and on.

So, we'd been stopping on the way to church to pick up a quick dinner. But, last night was the special Thanksgiving dinner that the church does on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving week every year. And since my kids thoroughly enjoyed the Thanksgiving lunch our Sunday school class put on last Sunday, I thought I'd take them to church for this event.

We shall now resume our avoidance of the church suppers for the following reason:

When the kids finish eating, they always ask if they can go play. I almost always let them because the other parents almost always let their kids. But, I had two rules. 1. Do not run inside of the dining room. 2. Do not yell inside the dining room. Over time, I have developed quite an extensive set of rules (born of necessity after I've caught them doing the very things prohibited by the new rules). 3. Do not trap your sister in the men's restroom. 4. Do not go up the stairs into the sanctuary. 5. Do not leave the building. 6. Do not stomp across the stage in the dining room.

So, when Evan asked if he could go play last night, I said okay as long as he follows my rules. He recited a few of them and asked if that was all. I said that was all I could remember at the moment, but I expect him to know how to behave himself. And off he went with his sister - who was also warned to behave herself.

(Anyone sensing the foreboding that I should have picked up on when he asked if the list of rules was exhaustive?)

A few minutes (a very few) later, I heard loud wailing and gnashing of teeth from out in the hallway. I knew it was Pressley, so I headed toward the wailing as quickly as I could maneuver through the crowd. Next thing I know, the door to the hallway opened and there stood Pressley howling and holding her back and Evan by her side, looking guilty.

Here's what I eventually got out of them. There is this free-standing metal coat rack about 3 feet long at the bottom of the steps leading up to the sanctuary. Evan thought it would be a good idea to grab one of the wooden coat hangers hanging on said metal coat-rack and swing from one end of the coat rack to the other. And then his sister followed his lead.

Only she's not nearly as advanced in tom-foolery as her brother, so she either let go of the hanger or it slipped out of her hands. And she landed on her back on the "foot" of the coat rack, or more specifically, one of its rough metal corners.

She is fine. She has a nasty gash on her back about one inch long. It has been treated with Neosporin and a band-aid.

Thank goodness (as my dad pointed out) that the incident didn't also tear her dress, because oh.my.heavens, I cannot even imagine how much longer the crying would have lasted. She was wearing her favorite dress.

Now, I ask you.... Does this fall into the category of sweet children behaving themselves? I think not. But in fairness, prior to last night, there was no specifically-articulated rule that forbid them from swinging on hangers on a metal coat rack.

And they wonder why it seems like I have so many rules....

Worn slap out

In one weekend, we went trick-or-treating, had two soccer games, went to Six Flags for Fright Fest, went to church, went to Boo at the Zoo, went trick-or-treating again, and then to a post-trick-or-treating neighborhood party.

The pictures will have to speak for themselves. I'm pooped.

I present my pink rocker girl and my dragon ninja.

Goodnight.