Sunday. As of late, we've been attending church on Sundays. I really liked it, too. Laid back, casual, entertaining, and the kids loved the nursery, too. We could choose our level of interaction - we could be as involved or uninvolved as we wanted to be, no questions asked. And then a few weeks ago, there was no sermon, just a report on the state of the church. And they started asking for money. Not in any subtle form, just a flat out request for about $800 from each family over the course of the year - not including our normal tithing. Ummm.... really? This was my first true involvement with a church since I was a kid, and back then I didn't pay attention to anything that was said, so I don't know if this is standard operating procedure. But it hit us the wrong way. And we haven't been back since. I don't feel good about this decision; church is good for all of us. And we were really enjoying it. But something about that whole thing just felt odd. And still feels odd. And so here we are, Sunday morning, no showers and still in our pajamas.
I register Zachary for preschool tomorrow evening. It's an online registration and it opens at 6pm sharp. Last year, I was late in getting Brodie's information turned in. Same kind of thing, opened at 6pm, and I forgot until bedtime. We ended up getting waitlisted (number 75 on the wait list, actually) and it was by the grace of God that we got a phone call a week before the school year started, asking if we wanted to enroll him in the public program. We were all ready to enroll him in the private Christian preschool here in town (for a hefty monthly sum, let me tell you) so it really was a blessing to get a phone call. But this time around, I am determined to make the enrollment list. De-ter-mined, I tell you.
It's kind of mind-boggling that Zachary is registering for preschool already. That means Brodie will be in kindergarten, and that apparently can't come soon enough. Once he found out that while in preschool he still has to eat lunch at home, he's been begging to be in a "grade" and go to "real school." Just wait until he eats school food; he'll be begging to come home. Or maybe school food has gotten better and they don't serve mystery meat and soggy vegetables anymore. It ought to be some damn fine cuisine for the price; school lunch is crazy expensive. Back in my day, school lunch cost a nickel but we had to go out and get the milk straight from the cow. Of course, that counted as participation in FFA, so it really was a win-win. Plus, the boys loved a girl that knew her way around the farm so all the really good milk maids were betrothed by the age of 15. The joys of going to school in Hickville. (Except for the nickel thing, all of that is based in some sort of reality. Sad.)
Back in my day... whatever. I'm getting old. That's depressing and I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to go take my Centrum and my Metamucil and count my grey hairs. Maybe the 700 Club is on.