Two things last weekend. First, the loud outburst that went something like, "MOM, THE BASKET ALREADY WENT BY AND YOU DIDN'T PUT THE MONEY IN!" (For the record - of course I did!) I whispered to him to knock the volume down about ten decibels and that yes, I did put money in. His response was something like, "BUT MOM, I DIDN'T SEE YOU PUT IT IN!" Dear Lord. Help me. I am weak.
Then towards the end of Mass he stares at me for a minute, and
says yells, "MOM, WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT ROBE TO CHURCH?" That robe? My comfy Ann Taylor cardigan? Crap, does it look like a robe!? So I whisper, "George this is a sweater, not a robe. Please be quiet." Crap, does this really look like a robe?! He painfully and with great strain whispered back, "But mom, it looks like you're wearing a robe." Thanks, George. I guess the bright side is knowing that I can now meander my way through life with the honest (and loud) opinions of my sons. Yeah, it sort of does look like a robe, doesn't it?