Sunday School Mishaps...

Before I proceed, allow me to say that I am SO thankful for my daughters. And, so very proud of the little people they are. As they grow, it is such a blessing to observe them in different situations, and see glimmers of the adults they will be, in their observations, and responses to different things.

And, as a parent, they are fully capable of mortifying me, nigh unto death. Now, I would like to state for the record, that Frank and I are pretty unflappable, and our dignity is generally for sale to the best joke, as we prize humor much more than we prize dignity. Turns out our children are testing this theory, as children will do.

Our Sunday School meeting is a small affair, and because of that, our two children are the only two that sit in the front row. There is a 9 year old, but she has served her time in this capacity, and is more than happy to hand it over to Kiki and Debris. This means that Kiki and Debris answer pretty much all the questions. This has proved to be quite interesting, as Kiki has realized that she has an undivided audience, and her parents are two rows away. Now, most of the time she does very well, and I'm quite pleased with her behavior, and her quotations of the memory verse for the week. I can handle the fact that she feels free to butt in with a "Yeah!" or "No!" when she's listening to the Sunday School lesson for the week--just means she's listening. It's when she gets asked a question that sometimes proves interesting. Like when Mr. W. asked her what a seal was, and if her mom ever made jam, and she immediately launched into a PERFECT, in order, step-by-step instructions for making jam. She didn't miss a step, I was quite impressed. If something happened to me today, it's a comfort knowing that Kiki could march right into the kitchen, and my family could have fresh strawberry jam, perfectly made, and canned up, in quick order, by my 4-year-old. Or, this last Sunday, when she felt free to share that Daddy broke his leg, and they had to call the paramedics to take him to the hospital, (which did not happen, more's the pity) and Mommy said I can have a sewing machine, but she's going to teach me to sew on her sewing machine first, and then the big mishap...

(Disclaimer: I was overtaken by hysterics and hilarity and horror for portions of the following scene, and therefore while this is pretty accurate as I remember it, might be lacking in some detail... someone who didn't have screaming in their head at the time might be able to tell the story a little better.)

Mr. M: So, can one of you tell me what a diary is?

(At this point, I bet any parent whose ever had toddlers can tell what's coming... Frank and I immediately began holding our breath, and waiting for it.)

Debris (waving her hand): I can!!
Mr. M: Ok, what is it?
Debris: I don't know!!

(Frank and I audibly breathe a sigh of relief... I believe Frank even whispered, "Whew, dodged a bullet there!!!")

Mr. M: Kiki, can you tell me what a diary is?

(Frank and I know there is no escape now, we both are laughing already. Debris has the attention span of a gnat, she probably forgot what the question was by the time he got to the question mark portion of said question. It's part of her charm. Kiki remembers when she stepped on dog poop at 18 months old in bare feet, and still recounts the story with some regularity. That's part of her charm. Nope, we're in for it now!)

Kiki: WELLLLL, a diarrhea is when you have poop, but it's like water!

Now the whole room is chuckling. Unfortunately, the acoustics are terrible in this room, and the laughter makes Mr. M incapable of hearing what she's saying, and so...

Mr. M (a little confused by the commotion, I think): What?
Kiki (a little louder): It's when you have poop, but it's like water!

The room is ROARING now, people are reaching in their purses for tissue to wipe their eyes, suddenly no one is looking at anyone else, and poor Mr. M is QUITE confused, and really can't hear a thing.... So,

Mr. M: What did you say?
Kiki (completely calm, cool, collected, despite the ruckus, and definitely much louder): "It's POOP, but like WATER!"

And, Mr. M, finally hears what she says, and it gets funnier, because his long drawn out "OOOoohhhhhhh!" says it all. And then he proceeds to chuckle, and come back with "Well, maybe we should use another word for it." before carrying on with his Sunday School lesson in a fine manner.

After that, Frank pointed out it very well could be impossible for us to ever be embarrassed by anything, ever again. I'm sure Kiki and Debris will test this theory, I'll be sure to let you know if it holds true, provided that the mortification is not too great. For now, when we walk into Sunday School Class on Sunday Morning, I will be packing extra deodorant, a paper bag in case of hyperventilation, and a long stick for the poking of my children, way up there in the front row, along with a huge dose of love and amusement, because kids really are the greatest thing in the world. However, I really hope other parents face the same trepidation/sweating of armpits/amusement every Sunday Morning, I don't know if I could handle being alone in this situation. Feel free to share if you've got a good story, I'd love to hear them!