We have enough interest that the Peep Show will go on! It will be smaller than previous years, but that is okay. :)
All-O-ver, Ol-i-vore . . . we're learning that Oliver's name has some fun mispronunciations.
Also, ask him what is name is and this is what you'll hear: "My name is Oli . . . Oli . . . Oliv . . . Oli . . . I don't know."
Here I am at SFO. Again. What should have been a 40 minute layover has turned into a 5 hour layover with merely a possibility of getting on the red-eye at 10:30. Flying standby. And if I don't get on the standby flight . . . they tell me my next shot at JFK isn't for 24 hours. Yeah. So let's hope that doesn't happen. And if I don't get on standby, well, there's got to be another way home.
S: Oliver, Is Mom a child of God?
O: Yes!
S: No, Mom is a grown up!
The one night -- ever -- when Micah and I get to bed at 10:00 and could, feasibly, get 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep, Simon wakes up crying inexplicably at midnight and can't go back to sleep, Oliver falls out of bed, and we're all out a couple of hours of sleep. Clearly we need to never try to go to to bed early. It's the only way to get a good night's sleep around here.
We walked home from church on Sunday and had hardly been home long enough to take off our shoes before there was a knock at the door. Two boys were standing there. One of them handed us a blue envelope with our name and address on it. Could it be? Was somebody actually coming by to collect our fast offering? We were so excited we could hardly contain ourselves. In our excitement we (meaning Liz) filled out the check wrong. After much flustering and tripping over ourselves we had the check and the donation slip filled out correctly and sent the boys on their way.
It has been since we lived in Provo that we last had our fast offering collected at our house. It was so nice to know that the ward knows who we are and where we live. I think we are going to like it here.
It’s weird to think about how things you take for granted are different in other places. I hardly ever think of the boys who collect fast offerings. Those poor kids, they probably thought you were a convert and were really excited to pay for the first time as a member or something.
I think the one family ward I attended in Utah is the only place in my entire life I’ve ever lived where anybody ever came and collected fast offerings door to door. I felt so retarded just standing there looking at the poor deacon who, knowing I was active and there every Sunday and theoretically should know what to do, wondering what the heck he wanted disturbing me from my Sunday nap like that… yeah. Things are different everywhere.