Pass The Collection Plate. Try The Casserole.

Dear Laney,

This morning, when you got up, I told you that it was a school day. Yippee! Hooray! School! Then, you told me in no uncertain terms that you would NOT be going to school. You would not put on socks, you would not put on shoes, you wouldn't allow a barrette in your hair... because all those things signal that we're getting ready for school. You were cranky, cranked up to 11.

I mean, I looked at your pajama shirt and thought, "I could write a blog post called 'False Advertising.'"

But I threw you in the car seat anyway and drove you to school because - as God is my witness - I needed 6 hours away from you.

When we got to school, you stood at the front door, then sighed and threw your shoulders back, like you were steeling yourself. Then you pushed open the door and right before my eyes, you turned into your great-grandmother arriving at Sunday School.

You had a smile on your face and started hugging young'uns I had never seen before in my life. You waved "Hiiiiiiii" to the staff and patted other kids on the arm. You weren't so much walking in to day care as you were working the room at a Methodist church in lower Alabama. If you had a bigger vocabulary, I swear you would have been asking the other kids how their knee was treating them, if their arthritis was acting up, and if you could bake them a rum cake.

You were so completely different from the possessed child I had just been in the car with, that I just stood there watching you dole out the hugs with my mouth hanging open. Finally, Miss Tracy had to wave to me and say, "We'll see you this afternoon!"

So nice to know you can channel your inner Granny Jack. If you ever want to try this magical conversion at home, that'd be okay by me.

Let the congregation say "Amen,"

Mom