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Monthly Archives: May 2013

Sorry…I can’t make it

I just knew I wasn’t the only one to hate Caillou!!!   Thanks for all of the reading and sharing last week!!

This weekend kicks off summer, my favorite season.  When you live in Alaska Connecticut, where essentially we have winter from October to June (9 months for anyone who’s counting) the summer days are precious.

I want to spend every moment I can basking in the sunshine.  What I don’t want to do is attend annoying functions to celebrate milestones that may or may not warrant celebrating in the middle of a summer day.

I call these types of functions that cut into my beach time, “sun-wasters.”

Since Mr. Gaga and I have large families and we are both very entertaining people, the invitations just keep pouring in.

Here are some summer functions that I don’t want to get off the beach for…

Your kid’s birthday party in the yard:  My friend Martha was the worst offender of this a couple of years ago.  When I can be at a beach or a pool the last thing I want to do is be in your yard with hot sticky children in a bounce house with face paint dripping down their sweaty faces.

Ironically enough I plan to have Sam’s birthday party in my yard on Friday.

Oopsie...At least I will serve alcohol to the parents to lessen the blow....

Oopsie…At least I will serve alcohol to the parents to lessen the blow….

Somehow even though Sam’s birthday is in always ends up being the hottest day of the year.

Last year, Mr. Gaga wasn't feeling well and swore he would never attend one of Sam's backyard parties again....

Last year, Mr. Gaga wasn’t feeling well and swore he would never attend one of Sam’s backyard parties again….

Kid’s birthday party when it’s not their birthday: People around here just throw birthday parties when it suits them.  Your kid’s birthday is in January but he likes bounce houses? Pretend his birthday is in August and make everyone stop enjoying the beach so that they can be tortured in your yard!

You are moving away and your kid’s birthday is in December? Have the party in the summer before you leave!!

No …I am very sorry people but that’s not how it works.  And if you have a party on the kid’s fake birthday, don’t even think of inviting us again on the real birthday.  How many presents do you think I am going to buy for your kid?

Graduation parties:   I have no problem celebrating someone graduating from college or highschool.  This is no small feat.  However, the commencement for most colleges are in May, high schools are the end of June.  You have until July 4th to wrap this up.   Don’t come knocking on my door in August talking about someone graduating….the ship has sailed my friend.

Reunions: Remember last year when we went to the weeklong reunion of sorts with Mr. Gaga’s family at the “Dirty Dancing” facility?  At least there was a pool there for god sakes.

As I mentioned earlier, we have all 9 months of winter to get together and drink and take trips down memory lane.  I’m not interested in doing that in the sweltering heat with no visible sign of a body of water.

There’s nothing worse than going to some weird picnic with people who you barely know.  To be surrounded by pot luck mayonnaise filled salads and people playing badminton in someone’s hot backyard is just not my cup of tea.

Invite me to meet at a bar in the fall, I will be there with bells on.

Engagement party:  Once we have a close friend or family member get engaged we all know that we are into this blessed occasion from anywhere from $500 to $2000.  Between the showers, bachelor parties, hotels, dresses, gifts, etc. you have to take out a second mortgage.

That being said – why do I have to kick off this money hemorrhage by giving you an engagement gift?

Especially since we are in our mid 30’s.  Just because you decided to stay single this long – don’t take it out on me.  I don’t need to watch you make out and profess your love to each other on a hot summer day….We will see you at the shower and the bachelor party and bachelorette party and the stag and the rehearsal and the wedding.  Really.  We don’t need to get off the beach for this.

Weddings on Holiday Weekends:  Have any of you ever been on the Interstate 95 in CT or NY? How was that experience? Was it enjoyable?

When I think of Satan at the fiery gates of hell, I envision the gates opening up to the I-95 somewhere around Stamford or the Bronx.

95 hell

If you venture onto this little interstate during the months of July and August on a summer weekend you might find yourself contemplating suicide.

If you add to this scenario July 4th or Labor Day, you would have to add 3 hours at least to reach your wedding destination in a timely manner.

It’s cruel and unusual punishment.

All I want to do is go to the beach, take an outdoor shower, enjoy some delightful summer cocktails, eat some grilled food items, eat smores, watch a firework and go to bed.

What I don’t want to do is drive on the I-95 for 10 hours, prespire excessively in some sweatbox of a church, watch you and your family do the macerena, miss the fireworks and get back on the I-95 for another five hours home in the morning.

Showers:   Whether it’s for your pending nuptials or the birth of your child, if the sun is shining I don’t want to be there.


There’s a beach chair and an US Weekly calling my name and I don’t need to sit here oohing and ahhing while you unwrap 50 Boppy covers.  I also don’t want to play “bridal bingo”  while you open pans and tank tops that say “Sexy little bride.”

In Bridesmaid, Kristen Wiig fulfills my every dream when she punches this heart cookie at her best friend's bridal shower and then stabs the Eiffel Tower with a knife....

In the movie Bridesmaids, Kristen Wiig fulfills my every dream when she punches this heart cookie at her best friend’s bridal shower and then stabs the Eiffel Tower with a knife….

I don’t care to eat some sort of chicken marsala dinner in the middle of the day followed by cake and coffee like I am 85 years old.

There’s nothing worse than going to a shower at 11:30 am and rolling out at like   4 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon in the summer.  You are blinded by the light after being held prisoner for so long and you just have to go home and go to bed because the whole day is destroyed.

This is what I looked like after I left a shower last summer...It seemed like I hadn't seen the light of day in years....

This is what I looked like after I left a shower last summer…It was like I hadn’t seen the light of day in years….

In closing, don’t take offense when I don’t come to your event this summer.

It’s nothing personal, it’s just that I just have olive skin that needs some tanning…..



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Caillou…The Silent Killer

Before kids, I remember parents complaining about Barney and the Wiggles regularly.  I never once turned on Barney for my kids for fear that I would have to listen to and look at that purple beast.

The Wiggles didn’t really bother me and as soon as I realized that they put my children into a trance, I put them on all the time.

Before we knew it – we all knew every dance move and every song lyric.  Mr. Gaga and I even rocked out and sang every song took the kids to two Wiggles Concerts.  It was around this time that I had two little babies that needed my constant attention.  The 22 minutes of peace that I had sitting on the couch in a vegetative state while they sang “Fruit Salad,” was the highlight of my day.

I remember too – that there was an episode on at 6:30 am and I would sometimes sit with my coffee riddled with exhaustion and actually think that Captain Feathersword was hot.  It could have been lack of sleep or lack of adult interaction, either way those Wiggles brought me a lot of joy.

After I asked Mr. Gaga to come to bed wearing a Captain Feathersword outfit - he banned me from watching...

After I asked Mr. Gaga to come to bed wearing a Captain Feathersword outfit – he banned me from watching…

I actually was a bit sad to see them go  – only to be replaced by new weird 2013 Wiggles.

Really? A Wiggle-ette? No...I'm not tuning in for this shit....

Really? A Wiggle-ette? No…I’m not tuning in for this shit….

Recently a friend was complaining about her kids watching Caillou.  I had a flashback to never ending afternoons with a baby and a preschooler.

It seems so long ago that I spent my afternoons making grilled cheese sandwiches while that annoying whiney brat Caillou droned on in the background.

“How come you didn’t warn me?” She asked in despair.

How come I didn’t warn her? I am not sure – but with that I realized that I really should warn people about this menace to society.

After preschool or whatever morning activity we had – we would come home for lunch and Caillou was always on.  It seemed harmless, so I would let the kids watch.

I did initially find the characters offensive due to their lack of style and the fact that poor Caillou had a clear case of alopecia that needed addressing – but I figured it couldn’t be too bad.

I am sure at some point he is going to notice that he is the only bald one and demand a wig....

I am sure at some point he is going to notice that he is the only bald one and demand a wig….

Episode by episode it became increasingly clear that this son of a bitch was a whining, rude little brat.  His parents don’t ever reprimand him for his wretched behavior because his family consists of an extremely medicated mother and a hippie Dad that doesn’t comb his hair and wears oversized Christmas turtlenecks everyday.

Do these people own mirrors??  If they are going to wear seasonaly inappropriate turtlenecks and not push up their headbands properly - can they at least match their clothes???

Do these people own mirrors?? If they are going to wear seasonally inappropriate turtlenecks and not push up their headbands properly – can they at least match their clothes???

As if their looks aren’t offensive enough, Caillou wanders through life complaining and demanding things.  You will notice that if your children watch this show – they actually learn step by step how to be a brat and how to throw tantrums.

This episode shows Caillou having a tantrum because he wants to go to the circus "RIGHT NOW!" Several children I know immediately started to throw tantrums "Caillou-style" after watching this...

This episode shows Caillou having a tantrum because he wants to go to the circus “RIGHT NOW!” Several children I know immediately started to throw tantrums “Caillou-style” after watching this…

It would take all my mental strength to get through the day with two little boys and their live crying and whining, Caillou’s whines and cries would go right through me and make me want to jump off the nearest cliff.

Thank you so much show creator Hélène Desputeaux for introducing this spoiled,  annoying person into our lives.  It’s not enough that we have to navigate the news and Annie and Bambi  without incident – not to mention the real live children that we have to interact with daily that are complete jerks, and their real live parents that look like Steven Keaton.  

Wouldn’t it be nice to have some pleasant afternoon programming for our children that is not filled with bald assholes?

New parents – consider yourself warned.

Do not turn on Caillou under any circumstance, even a Wiggle-ette will probably be better.

I asked Mr. Gaga to proofread this post.  He finished reading and looked up and said “What’s your point? You are just ripping on Caillou this week for no reason?”

Yes Mr. Gaga – yes I am.

Please share on FACEBOOK if you have ever experienced the TORTURES of CAILLOU and his stupid cat Gilbert and his medicated, turtleneck loving family!


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A Cross to Bear

When I am preparing to host an event, things get a little tense around here.

The housecleaning, yard work, meal planning, and thinking of little details like what everyone will wear and what hand towels will go in the bathroom, consume me.  Everything I just mentioned doesn’t really cross Mr. Gaga’s mind at all and he just picks up some beer and tries to just fly under the radar so that I don’t murder him in his sleep.

On a warm day last week I came home from a long day and thought I would take the kids to one of the many frozen yogurt establishments in town.  We had gone to Sweet Frog before and enjoyed it so we headed there after dinner.

The kids filled their cups with a variety of yogurt and toppings and we settled down at a table.  The yogurt is amazing.  Better than Pinkberry, better than any yogurt I have had.  Also, the place is very cozy and there is nice comfortable seating.  We were all going back and forth saying how much we loved it when I looked at the girl ringing up people’s yogurts.

I looked at her shirt and I did a double take.

I stopped eating with my spoon mid-air about to enter my mouth, squinting and looking very carefully at her shirt.

I put down my spoon and leaned forward a bit to get a closer look. I rubbed my eyes like they do in the movies thinking that I was seeing things.

“You guys – what does that girl’s shirt say?”

The boys read the shirt aloud.  I was speechless.

I thought they were just cute frogs that had fake eyelashes and liked yogurt but apparently they have a much deeper meaning....

I thought they were just cute frogs that had fake eyelashes and liked yogurt but apparently they have a much deeper meaning….

“I don’t get it ….what does God have to do with yogurt?” I asked the kids as they resumed eating their yogurt.  “Rely on God that it will be good yogurt? I don’t get it!” I kept saying.

They ignored me.

Then I looked on the wall behind the register and saw this:

This says "Serving with everlasting truth fully relying on God"

This says “Serving with eternal everlasting truth fully relying on God”

What the hell?

The other yogurt places I have been have signs about the benefits of probiotics and active cultures!

I was floored.  I looked around…nobody seemed to notice that we were in some sort of cult-like yogurt facility. I looked down at the yogurt.

“Are they trying to save us through the yogurt?” I asked in a whisper to my 6 and 7-year-old boys, who stared back at me cluelessly.

Sam looked up from his yogurt….”Well I don’t know Mom…..but all I know is that God’s yogurt is delicious.”

He had a point.

I finished my yogurt, I mean just because it was cult yogurt doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat it.

Two days later, I was doing some banking and I saw a strange charge.










This was the exact amount of the yogurt!

Hello! My YOGURT came up on my bank statement as HEAVENLY DEVINE INTERVENTION!!!!

Again, I rubbed my eyes and blinked fifty times to make it go away, but sure enough it was still there.

I thought – maybe I am seeing things. Maybe it really says “Sweet Frog Yogurt” but I see  “Divine Intervention” because I am going crazy.  Maybe Jesus is sending me a secret message before Michael’s communion.  Maybe I am being saved!

I didn’t have time to think about it too much, I resumed running around like a lunatic getting ready for the party for the remainder of the week.

I did think a couple of times that maybe I was “saved” and just didn’t know it yet.

The night before the party, we had a lot of last minute stuff to do.  I ran around in the backyard potting flowers and setting up tables and I noticed that Mr. Gaga was missing.

I went to the front yard to see that he had dipped into the beer for the party.  He was holding a Corona in one hand and watering miscellaneous grass with the hose in his other hand.

*Apparently when you get saved from heavenly yogurt it doesn’t make you nicer to your husband.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked with potting-soil filled hands on my hips.

(Mr. Gaga doesn’t like it when I yell or swear outside where the neighbors can hear me and I generally don’t care.)

“I’m watering the lawn.”

If I didn't know better, I would almost think that he WANTS us to get divorced.....

If I didn’t know better, I would almost think that he WANTS us to get divorced…..

“I don’t give a flying fuck if every motherfucking blade of grass in this lawn explodes into flames on Monday!” I screamed very loudly. “Get in the backyard and help me!”

Tumbleweeds rolled by and neighbors stared.

We didn’t really speak much for the rest of the night.

In the morning I woke up at 6:30 to go pick up the cake and finish setting up for the party.  I had ordered an Italian cake with strawberries and peaches and whipped cream in the shape of a cross for 60-80 people.  When I realized that the number of people attending would actually be 45, I tried to make the cake smaller.  When the bakery informed me that a smaller cake could not be made into the shape of a cross, I stuck with the larger size cross with “God Bless Michael” written across it.

What I hadn’t considered was that it would weigh about 75 pounds and fill the entire trunk of my car.

I drove home carefully and thought as I pulled into the driveway that I had nowhere to put the cake.  I entered the house and headed downstairs to see if the basement fridge could accommodate this huge cross.

I put my bag down and tried to squeeze the box into the narrow space.  The box got stuck halfway .  I tried to pick the box up a bit and push it on an angle and it got stuck further.  The more I pushed the more the box was folding in and possibly ruining the frosting and writing.

I started to sweat and call Mr. Gaga.

I tried to pull the box out and balance the cross on my knee while saying every curse word I could think of.  By the time Mr. Gaga came down I was trying to push the box in backwards with my butt.

*Apparently when you get saved by yogurt you don’t really stop cursing.

“Why do we have a fucking stupid piece of shit refrigerator that doesn’t actually fit food?” I yelled.

I want a divorce What’s the problem, now?”  he asked with exasperation.

“This fucking cross won’t fit in this asshole fridge.” I said with despair.

“I’ll take care of it – just go get ready,” he said sensing my pending nervous breakdown.

That was basically the last calamity and we all got dressed and got to the ceremony on time.

The ceremony went well, Michael did not sip from the filthy swine flu cup as I instructed him and everything ran smoothly.

We got home a little late but my sister-in-law helped me put out a cheese platter that had all of the meats in the shape of a cross which was perfect.

meat cross

I had the tables set up with beautiful flowers, candles and wine bottles that were teals and yellows.  The red wine bottles had gorgeous crosses on the label.

I took pictures of everything and the party went off without a hitch. The weather was perfect and the food was perfect….(maybe the yogurt really was saving me after all.)

Even the cake wasn’t too mangled from the basement drama.

I had time to run around taking candids of our family and of Michael and Sam and it was a great day.

When everyone left and the kids were in bed I went to download all 50 pictures from my iPhone to see how fat I looked relive the glory of this holy day.

Somehow in the transfer process from phone to computer they got DELETED!!!



I got a cake in the shape of a cross!

I fought with other mothers to get the perfect date for my son’s first holy communion!!

I served prosciutto fashioned into a huge cross!!

This is the thanks I get?

I tried to take pictures of what was left after the party – but somehow it doesn’t seem quite the same.

Here's a part of the cake....

Here’s a part of the cake….

I went to bed disgruntled and exhausted.

In the morning we all woke up late. I was so tired, I barely put makeup on, threw my hair up and went to head out to work.

I realized quickly that my bag was missing with my wallet, and basically my life in it.  I searched everywhere.  I went outside and checked the car and it wasn’t there.

I started to have heart palpitations and a pit started to grow in my stomach.

Mr. Gaga picked up the phone on one ring, “Good morning,” he answered cheerfully.

“Someone stole my bag!” I said frantically rummaging through my closet and looking under my bed. “I have searched the entire house!”

He calmly reminded me how I had come in the day before swearing and acting like a maniac in the basement with the cake.

I ran to the basement and what do you know…next to the fridge….there was my bag.

He is a pretty smart guy.

“Oh thank God, ok have a good day!” I said rushing to get in the car.

“Wait…so were you about to accuse our families of stealing your pocketbook?” Mr. Gaga demanded with disgust.

“Um….well…yes……or maybe the caterer?” I answered weakly.

It was at that moment that I realized no matter how much Sweet Frog yogurt someone consumes….some people just can’t be saved.



Why my kids are lucky to have me….

The other day at the store Michael was pointing to something in the deli case.

“Mom kids in my class have this for lunch all the time…I want to get that.” he said.


“Absolutely not.” I said as I  pushed the cart away, “When you see children that have that for lunch it means that their mother doesn’t love them…see how lucky you are to have me?”

He nodded and seemed to understand.

It reminded me in general as Mother’s Day approaches just how incredibly lucky Michael and Sam are to have me….

I am going to repost from last Mother’s Day my list of reasons why…..


1 – Of course – just stating the obvious here – but even though I am Italian and spent many years going tanning my kids are lucky enough that I don’t  roast them in a tanning bed.

2 – I let my children choose from refreshing beverages like milk or water and I give them Flintstones Vitamins with Extra C to build immunity! I don’t breastfeed them until they are old enough to have one hand on a Wii controller and the other on my boob.

3 – If I did do something that could potentially scar them for life or embarrass them in front of their friends, I wouldn’t let some magazine reporter and photographer document said activity and publish it for the world to see.  I would not do that even if it was for the cover of TIME Magazine, because although I have a blog which could be seen as a touch narcissistic, I am not a complete asshole.

4 – I actually spend time with my kids. I take them to the park, or read books to them, or take them to the library instead of spending my time  “bullet-ing” all day like  many mothers in America.

5 – I could possibly be considered a “milf.”  This is especially noticeable when compared to the “milgamo’s” around this town.    (“Milgamo” stands for – “moms I’d like to give a make-over.) This doesn’t necessarily mean much – but when the kids are older I am sure they will take comfort in knowing that when I pick them up from school I won’t be wearing ‘mom-jeans.”

6 – Even though other mothers in town seem to “forget” to comb their children’s hair or let their hair grow to the floor because  “Johnny doesn’t like getting his hair cut,” I get my boys frequent haircuts and comb their hair regularly.

I think it is important that they don’t look like drag queens on heroin at the bus stop – (like many young boys do these days.)

This is another little first grade boy that often sits next to my son on the bus....

This is another little first grade boy that often sits next to my son on the bus….

7 – I make sure that my children are not fat and lazy.  On nice days I often send them outside and lock all the doors, keeping them out for long stretches of time.

When they try to come inside and watch television or play video games, I yell and say “Do you want to be fat and lazy like all of your friends? Do you??” and shove them back out the door.

8 -I don’t really make them go to church.  My father made me go every living Sunday of my life. I think my kids are pretty lucky that I am too lazy and tired and not-god-fearing enough, to make them go.  When we do go on occasion, if they laugh and act crazy, I probably join in instead of yelling at them.  (Sorry Jesus.)

9 – I keep it real.  I don’t hide the nitty-gritty facts of life.  The threat that my children might some day really end up in “bad boy school,” keeps  everyone on their toes around here.  “Bad boy school” is a place that my mother-in-law taught me about.  It is a place where boys go when they are mean and rotten and can be conveniently seen from the highway!  I drive fast enough by it that they never really get a good look.

I always say “Oh look I see little sad faces peeking out the windows….See them??”

They always look out the window frantically with looks of horror – and say “Yes! I see them!!”

Otherwise known as the Colt Building in Hartford, it’s the “Bad Boy School” in the Gaga household. I always say as we drive by – “There it is kids! Keep it up and that’s where you will be living soon!”

10- I BLOG about my life and theirs – so they will have plenty of evidence of what a good mother I am and how much I love them!!!


Last night….

….I couldn’t do a blog post.

I hosted Michael’s First Communion party yesterday.

I am sharing with you my post from a few months back to refresh your memory about how this all started and then I will tell you about the party later.

Being a good Catholic is exhausting…..

No wonder the Pope quit.


Michael has his First Communion coming up.

This is a big deal.

For most good Catholics it’s because it’s an important sacrament that means something important I am sure…..

For me it’s important because I have to start thinking about the food and decor I need to have for 100 people at my house, and make sure it doesn’t conflict with the millions of other obligations that we have in the spring and summer.

I had to attend an important meeting at the church this week outlining all of the details about the ceremony and also to secure a date.

First topic of discussion was First Reconciliation.  This is when the children have to go meet with the priest and confess their sins.

I remember when I had to do this as a small child, being so afraid and nervous I  as I approached the confessional with sweaty palms and a pit in my stomach.

I told the priest that I was “sometimes mean to my mother,” and he told me that if I just said the “Our Father” three times then I would be totally forgiven.

I was so relieved.

Needless to say, in this day and age, this kind of torment is not favored by parents.

Parents were raising their hands at the meeting saying “How can we be sure that the children are comfortable and not nervous?”

“Can we be 100 percent sure that the priest will tell them they are forgiven?”

“I remember being very stressed about this, I DO NOT want that for my child.”




Then of course there was the topic of wardrobe.

Of course if you saw the picture of the Dad at my son’s baseball game then you know that this is a town filled with primarily Vineyard Vines and JCrew.  Nobody wears makeup….nobody combs their daughter’s hair….I could go on for hours.

But anyways – there comes a debate about headpieces.  A bunch of mothers said “Yes” to headpieces, and then it started.

“Well, my daughter would never wear something in her hair.”

“I don’t ever make my daughter wear something she doesn’t want to!”

“Well what should I do if she says that she won’t wear it??”

I told you I didn't want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!!  I look like a WHORE! When I grow up I am being a Scientologist....

I told you I didn’t want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!! I look like a WHORE! When I grow up I am being a Scientologist!!!


I wanted to stand up and say “Look!! If your child is Catholic they have to make a confession to a creepy priest that could possibly be a pedophile and they have to wear a creepy bride-like head-piece that means they are marrying Jesus!! Deal with it you assholes! And if you don’t like it – then go be Jewish!! And have fun with 10 hours a week of Hebrew school and if you think our headpieces our bad – good luck with those hats and barrette clips they wear!!


But I didn’t say that.

I just looked at my phone waiting for everyone to stop whining and complaining.

There were 2 available dates in May to have the First Communion ceremony and one is Mother’s Day.  Again, some nice Catholic mothers I am told, actually enjoy having this precious ceremony on Mother’s Day.

I am not that type of mother.

On Mother’s Day I would like to eat a nice brunch, (something a little more substantial than a communion wafer) and enjoy my life…not sit in a sweaty church for an hour and half and then entertain 100 people in my backyard.

It was imperative that I get my name on the list for the first weekend in May.

I was pretty much willing to do anything to get it.

As the “church lady” spoke I adjusted my chair to be at the best angle to pop up from it and sprint to the sign-up table. I envisioned elbowing people or tripping them to be sure that I could get up front in a speedy fashion.

At the end of the meeting, the Church Lady asked that we bow our heads and say a prayer.

She also asked that we allow her time to move from the table before we swarmed and knocked her over.

I don’t even think anyone said “Amen” at the end of the prayer and that bitch didn’t have a fighting chance of escaping.

People were fucking INSANE!!! There was no mercy!! No forgiveness!!

I witnessed no behaviors that Jesus likes!!!

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….


I ran so fast to the table, and yet I could feel a crowd forming around me as I got to the front of the room.   People were pushing and shoving and hands were sticking into the space where the sign-up sheets were, grabbing at the pens on the table.

A pregnant friend was in front of me with a pencil ready to sign-up when we reached the table.  She was the first to get the paper, and I was behind her, I was so set.

“Give me that pencil when you are done,” I yelled in her ear above the noise of the crowd.

But as she signed her child’s name to the sheet, it was clear, that there was no way she would be able to hand me anything…..the crowd was too rough. She was jostled and pushed aside…I tried to grab for the pencil out of her hand but she got swept away.

There goes the pencil…..

I would just have to just grab the sheet myself.

A different woman had gotten control of the sheet and I pushed underneath her arms as she was writing and I quickly signed on the bottom of the sheet, in the last slot, before anyone else could think of it.

Thank you Jesus.

For understanding that it’s very important to celebrate your body in wafer-form only on specific days.

Thank you for answering my prayers and not punishing me for my sometimes less than devout behaviors…

We will be there on our desired date with bells on.



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