Weekly Warning 10/19/08

Children are actually sent from outers space to test the limits of maternal patience.

Regan, Regan, Regan. My curious, beautiful, stubborn five year old daughter is now in my Sunday School class. For the past six weeks, she very covertly has been influencing her fifteen classmates.

Week 1: Regan announces that Jesus should be a fisher of both girl and boy trout.
Week 2: God does not like peanut butter treats but rather chocolate.
Week 3: Jesus should have included cookies when he fed 5000 people fish and bread.
Week 4: Poor Jesus, no one brought him a Nintendo DS in Bethlehem.
Week 5: The cry room is a perfect spot to hide from your mommy and daddy.
And the grand finale: Week 6: Regan recites her version of the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Farter, whose art's in heaven, hollow by my name, my kingdom come, my will be done, on earth and every where else, give me your daily Fred, and forget us our treasures as we forget others who treasure against us. And lead us not into the basement but liver us from MMs."

By the time she finished, her fifteen little followers who cannot remember my name after six weeks, were chanting "Our Farter" loudly. Great, I'm teaching kids that God has gas. And you should not go into the basement of houses, Fred apparently has been sold into slavery every day, and everyone should bow to Regan's will. Which has happened to her mini-cult followers.