It Takes a Village

It's Sunday.

We are sitting in church.

The boys are getting restless.

'W' is hungry, 'D' is standing on the bench, 'P' and 'A' are playing rock, paper, sissors, shoot not so reverently.

And of course, 'T' is giving a talk.

What do I do? I need to nurse 'W', but to do that would mean leaving the three other boys alone or take them all with me. Not happening.

I could put 'W' off for a few more minutes. He must of read my mind, because just then he starts screaming.

I'll just go into the foyer with 'W' and 'D' and wait until 'T' is done, I think, but as I try to quietly slip out, 'D's shoe falls off, so he is now screaming along with 'W' for his shoe to be put back on.

As I'm trying to figure out how to get 'D's shoe back on while holding 'W' in nylons and a skirt, in come my village. Sister M holds 'D' while Brother M puts his shoe on. Brother W comes and tells the deacons taking all the comfy chairs in the foyer to move so that I can sit down with 'W'.

There is peace and harmony again.

Thanks to my village.