I'm posting here (John) while my dial-up service is downloading some tax documents. Yeah, ssllooww!
I left yesterday for work about 10:00. By that time, our kids had been eating jelly beans for about three hours. Mer had given them the "today, I don't care" green light to eat their Easter candy with abandon. I later learned that for lunch, and we'll focus in on Sarah here, she ate 10 chicken nuggets from Chik-Fil-A and french fries. You totaling all this up? After lunch, the kids dyed eggs. Meredith boiled 24 eggs and by the time I got home, there were three left on the counter. When I inquired about this, she said, "Well, Sarah ate 7 boiled eggs this afternoon. And then she blew." Yes, death and resurrection in the old Blase household on bad Saturday. I tried to step back into the flow of the house, but realized there was no flow to step into, but there was something else to step into; and there was more to come. One more upchuckin' two-step occurred about an hour after I got home. There was this cry, like a stuck Easter bunny, from the hall: "Bring the bowl." But Sarah managed to strategically hit the floor between the bowl and the toilet bowl. Bullseye! There ain't much on a Easter-eve evening, when you're trying to prepare yourself for the holy hallelujahs of Sunday morning, than to have to clean up the remains of the day. But that's life - cleaning out the muck of the stalls, literally and figuratively. Sarah finally fell asleep from a post-jelly-bean-chicken-nugget-boiled-egg intestinal roller coaster ride in the middle of Saturday Night Live. She was o.k. this morning and when asked in Sunday school if she wanted any jelly beans, she resolutely answered, "No thanks." You go to sleep some nights wondering just what in the world keeps your kids alive. Same stuff that always has - God's hands.