The last couple of Sundays our little guy has been misbehaving in church. He fidgets, he looks around, he plays with his shoelaces. It's especially disconcerting because in two weeks he will be receiving his First Communion. Then, this past Sunday he leaned over during Mass and whispered in my ear: Paul Blart, Mall Cop. And he grins at me.
I mean, really.
We lectured him on the way home. His brothers, in the mistaken notion that they were being helpful, declared that at the rate he was going he was going to fail First Communion.
Well. Timothy was terribly insulted.
I DO, TOO, KNOW WHAT TO DO! (he bellowed): You walk to the stairs, bow, walk up the stairs, receive the body of Christ, step aside, bless yourself, walk to the Blood of Christ, let it touch your lips, return to your pew, and kneel until everyone has received communion. SO THERE!
Except, in demonstrating his knowledge which (evidently) had been drilled into him very well, he delivered it in such a manner that it was one long, continuous sentence without any pauses between words.
I-DO-TOO-KNOW-WHAT-TO-DO!-Walk-to-the-stairs-bow-walk-up-the-stairs-receive-the-body-of-Christ-step-aside-bless-yourself-walk-to the-Blood-of-Christ-let it touch your lips-return-to-your-pew-and-kneel-until-everyone-has-received communion. SO THERE!
Which was terribly funny (and more than a little cute).
Then he got mad because we were laughing.
Poor little guy. It's hard being the youngest. When we got home I took pity on him and offered to play Star Wars Monopoly with him.
And even I let him win.