Monday, September 17, 2012

The Sign of Peace

Each Sunday, my two oldest children eagerly anticipate the weekly sojourn to Dunkin' Donuts. (The Little Guy has not been given donuts, because his head would explode from a sugar high.)  This isn't a fait accompli, though.  This is a post-church donut run, and is contingent on their behavior during Mass. 

Yes, to get good behavior from them, I dangle carrots.  Or donuts.

They're good kids.  So, mine is a cavernously empty threat.  Even with good behavior, though, I still offer a re-cap of how things were good, and how they could've gone a little better.  I give you this week's example...

Me:  "Guys, today was pretty good. I really liked how you sat (mostly) still.  During the sign of peace, though, you really should shake each other's hands."

The Boy:  "But we don't want to shake each other's hands!"

Me:  "I know, I get it.  You really should, though.  It's a sign that, deep down, you love each other and want us all to be peaceful."

The Boy:  "I don't want to shake her hand because I know where her hand has been."

(The man walking in back of me with his four-year-old son chuckles.  As do I.)

Me:  "She washes her hands pretty often, honey."

The Boy:  "I've seen her pick her nose!"

(Really hoping the man in back of me didn't hear that... Nope.  More chuckling.)

The Girl:  "It's true!  Sometimes this finger," she jabs the air, "just finds its way up my nose!"

Me:  "Okay, well...  that's just a whole other thing we need to talk about."

And I gave them my permission not to shake hands during the sign of peace if they knew that the other one had gone digging for gold.  I also refused to give them a donut until they'd washed their hands.

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