I try to not write about my religious views too much. Politics and religion don't mix well when socializing with my friends
Except all of my friends are the people that I go to church with. And most of them have the same political view.
Elect Mitt Romney. Plain and simple.
This is not about Mitt Romney. It's about the church nursery. And what comes out of it.
Why is is that the church nursery is the only place that you can't randomly pop into. What goes on behind Door #1? For that matter, what happens behind Doors 2 and 3. Fort Knox could take a few lessons on security from the church nursery.
Occasionally I walk past the nursery door. Childproof doorknobs, windows that distort the view. In our church it is the hangout for 18-month to three-year old children. By age four the graduates of the nursery have moved into the "Primary" room. You have to be twelve to get out of the Primary room but it also means you don't have to participate in the Primary Program. If you are a boy that day can't come soon enough, the girls shed a few tears.
I used to think that the greatest service that I could offer up my church was to work in the nursery. Play some games, hold a baby (18-Months), have a few fishy crackers and cups of water in the smallest Dixie Cup ever made.
And then I had my own kids. And the dream died. Kids were hard. Kids tried my patience. Why would I ever want to work in the nursery when I barely could handle my own kids..
Don't get me wrong, kids are adorable. Just not when they are in the nursery or visiting my house.
In pictures, videos, singing to the congregation at the front of the church, okay. But in real life they are little terrorists who turn into teenagers and stay that way through their teens.
And that's my kids I'm referring to.
Snot nosed little Munchkins who are trained by some of the best parents in the world see, hear, and smell the fear of a guy like me. It doesn't help that I'm a grandfather, that I have experience in calming, soothing, kissing boo boo's and the like. They just know that I'm not their mom and I'm certainly not their dad.
And if I try to be they will let the world know.
When they throw a fit seismic instruments at the university hit 19 on the Richter scale. And diaper blowouts? I'm not cleaning that mess up. Gingerly pick up the kid and take it their parents. Two sleep deprived adults start playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who takes care of the latest explosion from Mt. Bottom.
And who brings a sick kid to the nursery. Turns out most people. At least a diaper contains the one blowout, throwing up is kinda of random and directed at random people. Well, random adults at least.
And nursery is the best kind of sleeper cell for these little terrorist. They don't actually sleep. It's just their mischievous side that goes to sleep.
And they go into a coma like slumber. And one day they wake up...
And turn into teenagers.