the 7th day

Ahhhhhh, Sunday morning. What a blessed event. The children rise early and go downstairs to fight and tear the house apart. The parents are exhausted from a busy Saturday and staying up too late so they stubbornly remain in bed until one of them caves and rises for the day. As soon as the kids see the sucker who got up (usually their dedicated Mother), they break into a chorus of whining and crying: better than a brisk shower for waking oneself up. The kids throw themselves at their Mom, screaming for chicken nuggets and pancakes. When they are told that chicken nuggets are a treat for lunch and that pancakes are for well behaved children, they ever so nimbly turn up the volume on their shrieking and demanding. Now the neighbourhood dogs can join in and the condescending, single, childless neighbour can chalk another notch on his bad parenting chart. Mom smiles and quietly calculates how many years until the kids are out of the house while dragging each one to their appointed bedroom (hoping all the while that the noise has woken their father). There is much timing out, yelling, crying and taking away of cherished bicycles and a very sacred purple elephant pool. Once the din dies down and the little brats put some food in their bodies they sit, blank faced in front of the tv for 12.2 seconds until the eldest child decides at 8:45 am that it’s “lunch time” and they should all drive to McDonalds for a special treat. Lather, rinse, repeat until 11 am when the happy family (Daddy now part of the merry making) leaves the house all spit and polish to worship at their local church. What a perfect example of the post-modern Christian family. Can’t you just hear the angels singing?

And how was your morning?

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