I know that whoever coined the phrase Lord, have mercy definitely had children. Because I said this phrase under my breath for the hour and a half that we subjected Becks to the Christmas musical at church last night. Armed with a baggieful of Lucky Charms and a sippy of juice, I figured we'd make it through with ease. Our kid likes music, so this should have been cake. Nope, not at all.
He was in my lap. And then he wanted down. He was in my lap. And then he wanted down.
He was in his daddy's lap. And then he wanted down.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Repeatedly. At about a 12 second interval.
I kept glancing at the programme, thinking only four more songs until intermission...only three more songs until intermission...PLEASE GET HERE INTERMISSION. Despite the constant movement, he was surprisingly quiet until the last three songs of the entire production. Then he wanted to loudly pop his paci in and out of his mouth saying BAH! every time. {That's what he calls a paci.} Then he'd giggle. Also loudly. So I took him to the foyer and we finished the musical from the flatscreen out there where I let out an exasperated, non-whisper Lord, have mercy!
Patience was invented for parenthood.
PS. My little sister, Aubrea, turned 21 over Thanksgiving break and then I got sick and forgot to mention it. Happy Birthday, Aubbers! Love you :) This is me and her after our delish dinner at Bonefish. We are modeling her signature picture pose. Similar to the Tori-tilt, no?
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