Churchie McChurchiePants

Last night at church, someone (who obviously doesn't know my family that well) asked me if the Bean was my little brother.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

As if I'd claim him if that were true.

LOL, JK.  Of course I would.  Maybe.

So when I responded that, no, he was my oldest son, the guy's eyes widened, and he said (I shit you not):  "you wear your age well!"

um.

My age?

How the fuck old AM I???

Anyway, so I go, "oh, no, I was actually much too young when he was born,"  which is pretty much 100% true.

The Bean is 18.  I was 18 when he was born.  I'm (barely) 37.

At a different moment in VBS, my friend Katie-bird, whom I adore, goes, "how old are you right now?" to the kids.  Who were, like, 8, 4, etc.  I go, "20!"

Then she goes, "how old will you be in four years?"

I go, "20!"

Vacation Bible School, which is now over, was pretty awesome.  Here are a few of my favorite moments:

1)  When asked, "what do you do if someone is bullying you," one small boy responded, brightly, with "bite him and kick him in the face!"

Awesome.

2)  I go, "do YOU want to tell me about a God Sighting," to another small boy.  He gets in the microphone, bats his eyelashes at me, and says, "I love you."  SWOOOOOOOON.

3)  "Hot dogs??  I LOVE HOT DOGS!!!  YES!  THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!"

4)  "Miss Sarah, do you need help tonight?"  I'm all, well, I'm sitting here, hiding under a tree, trying to smoke a cigarette, and I'm pretty unhappy that one of my favorite young people are busting me.  "yep."

5)  Caleb, into the microphone, "GODPROTECTSUSANDKEEPSUSSAFE"  Me, into the microphone, "Lord."

6)  Sometimes, an impromptu belting of Lean on Me around the piano is the only thing in the world that makes perfect sense.

7) "Oh, your name is Andrew?  Can I call you Andy?"  "um, okay."  "no?  How about Brian, I'll just call you Brian."

8) "How's it going, Gabby-The-Second??!!"

9) "Yeah, I just ate a plate of tater tots.  Now I'm having a plate of blueberries.  It's a balanced meal."

They got it, though.  And I'm not even going to do a 10), because the thing is, I heard them get it.  It's a cross, they said.  I can ALWAYS count on God, they said.  Kids are pretty badass.  So is Vacation Bible School.  So is my Katie.  So am I.  :)

Sucka

On Saturday, around 3:00, my mother and I had the following conversation:

Her:  "Oh, so Caleb is going to go to Vacation Bible School this week?  Are you working at it?"
Me:  "No.  Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES am I going to volunteer to do ANYTHING for it.  I am going to drop him off and read for two straight hours."

On Saturday, around 4:30, one of the nicest human beings I've ever met, and her name is Heidi, too, of course, called me and did this:

Her:  (almost weeping) "I am begging, I need you, I need your help, is there any way you could..."

Guess who is leading the music--- and pretty much the, like, majority, of Vacation Bible School?

That'd be me.  The sucka.

Truth is, I'm tired.  Truth is, I didn't have enough time to really learn the dances.  Truth is, I'd have loved another week to prepare.  Truth is, I completely, 100%, totally freaking ADORE it.  LOVE LOVE LOVE.

I should have been a teacher (says the girl who was certified and thinks, ah, maybe every summer, and then thinks, ah, hell no, every fall).

So that's what I'm up to.  That was a pun.  The theme this year is SKY- like, fly away with God, or something.  It's sort of confusing.  But it's funny.

By the way, so am I.

The only thing else to talk about is The Walking Dead, and WHY DID YOU PEOPLE KEEP THIS A SECRET FROM ME?

I'm almost caught up on Season Two.  WORD.

And, by the way?  I'm all mediated.  Like, all the way.  Like, I'm done with the divorcey-horseyshit, and that feels good.  I'm not divorced, but I will be, and it's fine, and I'm fine and I'm glad it's moving along, and a lot of the anger and resentment is moving along, etc.  So that's sort of awesome.

And I love my kitten.

Bleeding Heart Liberal Hippy (as per usual)

Look, I'm not definitively either FOR or AGAINST the death penalty.  In fact, I have not yet made up my mind how I feel about it.

Except to say that, the fact is, there are NO do-overs, you know, if the party in question is dead.  And so, if he/she is found innocent, too late.  Too bad, so sad.  No do-overs.  DNA has exonerated 17 people so far, according to The Innocence Project.  I know, that's certainly NOT a staggering number, BUT... I bet to their moms, each one of those people is a staggering person.  Just saying.

This got under my skin.  More than reasonable doubt, is all.

But then, this on Facebook this morning:

GD, y'all, REALLY???

On what planet is it okay for us - you know, people - to celebrate another human being's death???

I do not care if it is Osama Bin Lauden or Hitler or whomever, they done some bad stuff, it's true.

So have I.  Not that bad, I think, but I don't know that God cares what level of bad.  It's all bad.

I don't have any right to throw that stone, thanks.

Ugh.

I hope the family of the slain police man gets peace.

I hope that the family of Troy Davis continues to believe his innocence.

I hope that Troy Davis is sitting in Heaven, just shaking his head because we-all are so dang stupid.

Singing September

I have mentioned before that I enjoy the singing.  Of me.  The singing of me.  I am a fabulous singer.  That's a big fat lie, I am an acceptable singer, better than several but not certainly worse than many.

All this is preamble to talk about a great big concert at which I am singing (in which?) on Sunday, a 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina Memorial.  Me, little Sarah-bean, getting all makey-uppy and standing in the smack-middle front of the stage (gulp) to sing like 20 songs in the company of some other Very Good musicians, and possibly somewhere between 100 and 500 community people hangin', waiting for cake-o'clock.

People will probably cry.

I will probably cry.

I miss what it felt like to not suffer from PTSD in early September.  Maybe this will help me get back to that safe feeling, the one that a hot bubble of panic robs me of each year. 

Alternatively, this might be the worst year of all.

At any rate, I will not have any voice left at the end of the night. 

I've been working hard.

I get to sing Peter Gabriel (I believe I mentioned that before.)

I sound good.

I'm nervous.

WHAT TO WEAR.

I wish you were going to be there.

Lloyd Dobler

I'm wearing a size 16 skirt, and it's not falling off my fat ass.

That hurts, even to just type it.

What's worse is, I'm in pretty much the best shape I've been in since I was about 22.

F M E.

Anyway...

So I sing with this band, from my church?  Originally it was me and five dudes but now it is me, four dudes and a girl who is like 13 and precious.  Awesome.  We are pulling together this "gig" for September 11, and they keep incorporating secular music that I pretty much Super Heart, but then they shuck it into some key that is impossible for me to harmonize with and I have been kind of sucking it up lately.  That part's not my favorite.

But you know what IS my favorite?

I get to sing Peter Gabriel:




Maybe I will either take off my shirt while I sing it, like Peter.

Or maybe, I will get some rangly teenager to hold up a GIGANTIC boom box and just stand there. 

Since this is happening at the church, it is sort of unlikely that either of these things will happen, but it's a nice thought.

Booger Redirector

On Sunday, I was sitting in the choir loft, same as usual.  I happened to catch a view - a good, clear visage - of the little acolyte boy, who was about nine or ten years old.  Cute kid.

Who apparently has a cold.

I watched him sniff a bunch, and attempt to wipe his nose with his hand.  And then scratch his nose.  And then pick it.  And then LICK HIS FINGERS.

And then the whole scene played out again.  And again.

My stomach was rolling, but it was communion, so I knew I was going to have to "eat" in front of people and deal somehow with my disgust. 

(as an aside, I had a bandaid on my thumb and only barely managed to not dip my bandaid in the communal chalice of "blood of Christ," only because this happened below the lip of the goblet or whatever you call it, I am pretty sure that the congregation thought I full-on submerged my nasty band aid into the grape juice.  how nasty is that??)

Anyway, so when it was time to go down for communion, I reached over and grabbed a few kleenex from a box in the choir loft.  The choir walked down to the front rail, and I watched the lady standing in front of me surreptitiously hand the acolyte boy a few tissues.  And then I started laughing, and did the same.  Only less surreptitiously, because, what the heck.  Kid, you are at least nine years old, you ought to know better.

My church was kind of gross this week.

According to this source, that kid wasn't the first to be caught green-fingered...