Wednesday, June 27, 2007

His Majesty's Happy Meal

There is no limit to my stark devotion to my godchild; all I have is his--stuffed manatees, gummy Lifesavers, all. This Jim The Small Child Nephew often repays with casually glancing at me, then pointing in the farthest direction from himself and pronouncing, "Aunt Beth that way."

At least he's only booting me from rooms instead of entire houses, but that doesn't make it any less tempting to close the door with slightly more force than is necessary when I suddenly become popular again as I depart to procure His Majesty's Happy Meal.

Not to be outdone by his big brother, Will The Baby Nephew hurled scorn upon me when last week I had the temerity to change his diaper; horrid aunt am I, wiping his own poop from his butt. Once we were finished, I set Will on the floor, still wailing--he is at that tortuous semi-walking stage for adults, when he is mobile only with a bent-over grown person's fingers supporting his princely balance--and he accepted my help, all right, but only while occasionally pausing in his furious toddlings to look up and make sure this awful person was still holding him up.

"But that," their pending uncle solemnly pointed out, "is exactly what we do to God sometimes." Ah, he's forming an excellent understanding of Catholic guilt already.

Yesterday, however, the trinity of us had a grand time chasing one another; Jim stood on one side of the the room, shrieking, and Will and I roared after him. Little brother headbutted his elder, and the process was repeated. It was a good twenty minutes before either one of them demanded my ouster.

Holy indeed.

fries at:

1 comment:

red pill junkie said...

...Well I haven't asked for a Happy Meal, but God is sure taking His time delivering me that Porsche I asked when I was 18.


Anybody Up thereeeeee!


With cream-colored leather interiors!!!!!

PS: Maybe I should stop praying and start reading "The Secret" as Oprah recommends...

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