I wasn't going to mention this, but I've been sick. Nothing big. Just a head cold. You know da kine. Da kine that leaves you feeling like that grandma who got run over by a reindeer.
I was going to stay home from church so I could lay in bed and blow my nose all day but I received word at 8:30 a.m. that it was up to me to teach the Miamaids what it means to support and sustain the priesthood--a topic for another post (perhaps about how the Young Women manuals haven't been updated since the middle ages).
I had to wing it BIG TIME and then distract them girls with some cookies (made by my friend's husband) and some girly talk about the new Zach Ephron movie 17 Again. Can you ever say enough about a cute 17 year old boy who promotes abstinence and tells a couple of glammed up smutty girls to R.E.S.P.E.C.T themselves.
Of course you can't say enough, especially when you're in a decongestant daze and you're trying to wing a lesson.
And anyway, that Zach Ephron! He's so cute. Now there's a boy I could tell my daughter to support and sustain.
But seriously, it's a slippery slope this topic. But it feels more like a long and winding road when you've got kleenex shoved up your nose.
Admittedly I wandered off topic. Just like I'm going to wander off topic here too.
(SUE ME! I'm SICK!)
You could say support is a lot like an onion--it's made up of many layers.
Or you could say support is a lot like a box of chocolates--you never know what you're going to get.
Or you could say support is like a lot like love--it has 5 primary languages.
Lets just say, you can feed and clothe your kids. You can provide a safe, warm place for them to hang loose. You can drive them to every practice and show up at every game. You can sit in the front row and snap photos of their every performance. You can buy them a hundred books or a thousand Yugio cards or a million pogs, but don't miss a last minute, optional lunch-on-the-lawn at the elementary school or they'll accuse you of being unsupportive.
And don't poke them in the eye every time they bring home a stray rooster.
And don't ever ever ever say the word PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE after your daughter plays a tennis match, lest she races from the room with her hands over her ears screaming, "See why I don't tell you anything! YOU NEVER SUPPORT ME!!!!!!!"
Kids these days!
But our kids are just God's way of saying "Muwaaahahaaaa! Open wide! Wider! WIDER! Here comes a taste of your own medicine!"
I've dished those words out myself a hundred times to my hub after I tell him I want to quit working and cleaning and cooking so I can write all day long (and eat bon bons and drink Mountain Dew).
Poor guy. He tries, bless his heart. It's too bad my primary love language isn't That's-just-not-practical or Okay-but-we'll-have-to-tighten-our-belts.
But once in a while he does these cute things that make me feel little twinges. Like last week at the dentist.
He knows I envy him because his hygienist is coo coo for cocoa puffs. Mine doesn't notice the tears streaming down my cheeks while she bad mouths Old Navy and laughs about her favorite fish fillet commercials, but HIS! She's got a tooth loose somewhere in that noggin' of hers (and I'm not talking about her mouth).
So last week after my cleaning my hub was waiting anxiously for me in the hallway.
"Come 'ere," he said with his eyes as big as quarters. "I have to show you something."
He led me to his hygienist's room where several recent glossy 8X10 photos had been pinned up on the wall.
"Look. My hygienist just got back from Taiwan," he told me.
And I looked. And there she was lounging with a couple of tigers in a monastery. They looked as if they were discussing the pros and cons of celibacy.
Next to the photo of her cat in a hospital gown in a coma was a photo of her playing pick-up ball with a couple of arangatangs in yellow basketball shorts.
By the dental floss flo charts was a photo of her waving to the camera as if she'd just won Miss America, completely unaware that she had a ginormous albino boa constrictor hanging from her neck.
And near the photo of her dog in a dental chair getting his teeth flossed was a photo of a couple of elephants with paintbrushes perched in their trunks.
"They're painting their self portraits," my hub whispered with a grin.
"And see this picture here" he pointed to a picture of a lovely bouquet of flowers. "One of the elephants painted this for her."
I saw the painting with my own two eyes, peeps. I'm telling you, Monet's got nothin' on the Taiwanese elephants.
"Isn't this great!" My hub said.
And then he squeezed my arm. "I thought you'd love this stuff for your blog."
Suddenly I felt all flushed.
Now that's what I call support!