Evangeline...

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    Friday, June 13, 2008

    Anyone lost their panties?

    It all started innocently enough. One Sunday morning, I went to the women’s restroom at church. I quickly scooted into the second stall, thankful that, for once, there wasn’t a line. But to my consternation, there on the floor of my stall I saw a pair of tiny, black, lace underwear.

    I pondered.

    Of all the places I might expect to see abandoned panties—the gym locker room, a Victoria’s Secret dressing room, the stage at a Justin Timberlake concert—church certainly was not one of them. Who did they belong to? Why had she taken them off? And what sad state of distraction was she in to be wandering around church sans underwear and oblivious to her skivvy-less state.

    Then I got to wondering what God thinks of black lace underwear. I’m not legalistic in the least, but is church really the place for lace lingerie? Don’t get me wrong, if I were wearing such an item of clothing, it wouldn’t be the risqué nature of my undergarments distracting me from worshiping God, but rather the itchiness of the fabric. Maybe that’s why they ended up on the floor of the women’s room.

    I did what I’d come to do and then went to the counter to wash my hands. Another woman entered the restroom. She went into stall number two. Then she came right back out and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Did you drop something?” she politely asked. “No, they were there when I came,” I replied. Still have my granny panties, thank you very much.

    She looked back at the minuscule panties. Her voice tinged with reluctance, she asked, “Should we take them to lost and found?” I wrinkled my nose. She frowned. Clearly neither of us wanted to carry our anonymous sister-in-Christ’s g-string to the church office. We agreed it was best to leave them be in case our natural friend became aware of a draft beneath her skirt.

    I don’t know what became of the black lace underwear, but I have a vision in my head of a grizzled janitor poking at the tiny pile with the handle of his broom. Far better that than my other mental image: an associate pastor holding them up in front of the congregation. “Panties? Anyone lost their panties?”

    Friday, June 6, 2008

    Summer Fun, Bribery, and Dodge Golf

    It’s not always easy for our family to have fun. Often Monkey’s sensory problems or Mom and Dad’s expectations/impatience get in the way. The following is a sample of issues that have ruined family fun time: “I don’t like my shoes.” “What is that smell?” “Ralph is staring at me.” I should explain that Ralph is the name I gave to an unfriendly-looking Indian chief in a painting at Texas Roadhouse. I thought giving him a name would make him less scary. Turns out, it only made things worse.

    So now that summer is upon us, I’m trying to think of fun things to keep my kids busy, active, not drooling in front of the TV. Both boys love the water, so swim lessons were an obvious choice. Maybe not so much. We had to bribe them to participate in “fun time.” But after a week, they’re used to the structure of class and doing better, but I did some brain-tickling eye rolls for the first couple of days.

    Summer fun also brought asthma to our little Monkey. I diagnosed this in April, but our doctor finally agreed with me a week ago. So Monkey had to learn to use an inhaler. Normally, they give kids with asthma breathing treatments, but that requires sitting still for ten minutes. Nope, not an option. So out came the bribing technique once again. We told Monkey we’d take him to Mr. Bigg’s if he successfully used his inhaler for a week.

    I’m happy to report, it worked. So yesterday we visited Mr. Biggs. I’m always a raging ball of nerves at these places because Monkey and Chunky are fast, destructive, and diabolically clever. (Also they have weird ideas about the necessity of clothing—but we’ll save that for another entry.) And of course, you never know when a random smell or uncomfortable shoe might attack and render family night unconscious.

    It turns out, our evening was a success. No one got lost or injured, despite the invention of our new game, Dodge Golf, and no one screamed until we got home. (Will have to tell Kory he must learn to live with the smell of his socks and stop waking the neighbors when he takes his shoes off at night.)

    No one should have to work this hard to have fun, but hey, my boys are worth it, and I’ve discovered the ultimate power play. It goes like this: “If you don’t _______, I’ll take away your Playstation.” Power! Power! HA HA HA! Power!
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