flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

My Photo
Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

May 13, 2007

Happy Sunday!

I’m sitting here, reading blogs instead of going to choir. Bad me. John said, “Do you want to skip church entirely?” (When I was a kid, there used to be a local program on the T.V. – Skip Church on Sunday Morning at 11!) The Moth was sitting on my lap, and Stinky was playing war (his army fighting the kissy kissy army – they kiss him if they capture him, eeeeewwww).

I said to Tim, “Do you want to go to Sunday School or stay home?”

“Go to Sunnay Skoo,” he rasped.

“Stay home!” Sean shouted.

It reminds me of Sunday school when I was a kid. We sang lots of songs (often with accompanying hand signals) like:

Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, heavenly breezes blow
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, faces all aglow
Turn, turn from sin and doubting, look to God on high
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, you and I

Which my brothers, sarcastic lot that they are, changed into:
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, don’t you be so dumb
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll turn into scum
Turn, turn from Sunday School and church because it’s yuck
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll get stuck!

(that’s more like it!)

This post is in honour of my own, sweet (heh) mudder, who raised all of us cherubic pups.

Poor Mom. Even if she does have hands. (That’s a Ron story. For those who think Ron is so innocent, and John is the mischievous one. When Ron didn’t get cookies sent to him at college, he told his roommates that it was because his mother didn’t have hands, and they believed him, expressing their surprise when the met Mom and her hands…)


Labels: , ,


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home