Falling for Seminary

           You know that I volunteer to teach a one-hour religion class to teenagers, before school, at 7 a.m., four days a week, right? And it’s the best assignment I’ve ever had.

          I truly love these kids and I pray for them by name. I’m also peeved that school has now ended and I won’t see them all summer. And I’ll have a completely different group this fall.

          I don't want to post photos without permission, so I won't show you the darling pictures I have of them. BUT... St. Bob makes the occasional appearance, and here he is as a hotdog, and as an olive:

          And here are just two of the many chalk quotations they put in the church parking lot: 

          So yes, I have fallen for this “job” and the kids themselves.  But that’s not the fall I want to tell you about. Just before the semester ended, they made music videos that tied into what they’re learning. They love doing this on their phones and they can edit like pros.

         At one point I was asked to be the videographer, holding one of their phones and shooting the action.

          It was like a good news/bad news moment.

          The good news is that I was helping the kids make a movie.

          The bad news is that I have dyspraxia and am super clumsy, so I shouldn’t be trusted to film anything.

The good news is that I could sit down to do it.

The bad news is that I lost my balance because I’m looking through a lens and twisting around on my chair.

The good news is that I captured their scene.

The bad news is that I fell smack onto the floor. Wearing a skirt.

The good news is that it was a long skirt.

The bad news is that I still fell on my butt in front of everyone.

The good news is that it was all captured on camera—wait—that’s also bad news. 

The good news is that I don’t have to post it here.  Whew!

But you can see me in my YoutubeMom videos, where I try not to be a complete klutz.

 

Falling for Bob?

         Well, well, well. Much has happened since you tuned into the last episode of Joni Baloney.  

          Two nights ago St. Bob, who thinks he’s still 18, decided to join in a volleyball game with teenagers at our church. That evening after he got home, he said, “I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to say anything about it.”

          Oh, boy, is that ever a loaded request. I folded my arms. “What happened?” I asked.

          Turns out Bob’s shoe tripped him (yeah, right) and he fell. His palms were bruised, his neck was wrenched, and he landed on his unwilling hiney.  Which, I might add, is connected to his unwilling spine. 

          Oh—and he also hit his head but he’s sure he doesn’t have a concussion because he looked it up.

          “So, what were you worried that I would say?” I asked.

          “That I’m too old to be acting like an idiot and risking my health and maybe breaking something in a younger man’s game.”

          I smiled. “As long as you’ve heard the words, I don’t care who says them.” Just so we understand each other.

A much safer endeavor is to sit right where you are and click here for all kinds of life hacks on my Youtube channel.

Sweet Dreams

        Someday I’m going to get pulled over for swerving in the vicinity of ice cream or candy shops, and on the news it will say, “She was driving at a glucose level of 15.8, which is twice the legal limit…”

          Okay, I really have no idea what the glucose numbers would actually be, but I do know that if my blood is drawn it can double as chocolate syrup for a sundae.

          At a check-up I was telling my doctor about my face plant fall, and he said I need to turn on the lights so I don’t break something next time.  “Otherwise,” he said, “you could end up in a nursing home. And they don’t have desserts in there.”

          “I could have someone bring me desserts,” I suggested.

          “You’re missing the point of the story,” he said.

          “So you say,” I told him, “but that factor could play into my decision.”

          He sighed.

See?” I said. “We’re both patient. Get it? You’re the adjective and I’m the noun. Fine, fine, I’ll keep the lights on.”

 I didn’t tell him that when Bob and I drove up to my Seminary class door the other day, I commented that the lights in my classroom were on, and Bob said, “But no one’s home.”

Hey, lights on or not, you can watch my Youtube Mom videos here.

         

Ker-splat!

           Here’s my wish. I wish the face plant would go extinct. This time I was heading out to teach early-morning Seminary, and was creeping quietly through the dark house so I wouldn’t wake anybody up. But I misjudged the distance and crashed through the doggie gate onto the wood floor. Head first. I got a bloody nose and bruised ribs, but this is the lingering proof on my chin when I go out in public:

          Yes, it is a purple bruise on my chin, as if I’m trying to grow a soul patch.

Or I’ve been in a plum fight.

I had been carrying a new pair of shoes, which went flying. And, which Mickey, our Chihuahua/Terrier, immediately recognized as new. This means they do not belong in the picture and must be barked at.

          So, she’s barking and growling at the shoes while I am lying on the floor bleeding and in shock. But nevermind the human; it’s the shoes that need attention.

Neither Bob nor Nicole could hear either of us because they had sound machines on.  So they didn’t leap to my aid, not by the bruise of my chinny chin chin. Maybe I should start wearing a helmet everywhere I go.

          But I did manage to hobble to an upright position, drive to the church, and teach a class just a few minutes later. I can only imagine what the 20 teenagers thought as I stood before them, looking like I had just crawled out from a car wreck.

I should have told them I’ve simply got to quit doing Mixed Martial Arts.

But you can avoid these kinds of household accidents by sitting still and watch my Youtube Mom videos here.

Falling for it Again

          St. Bob earns that title daily.  The latest thing I’ve asked him to do, which surely no man can enjoy, is to lift seven heavy bins labeled “Halloween” or “Autumn” from their shelves, so I can put pumpkins and fall harvest displays around the house.

          As I was pawing through one of them for seasonal decorations I mumbled, “Hmm… this could be cute in the kitchen. Wait. Maybe I could mix the acorns and the little wooden apples in the same bowl.”  Then I said, “How do men put up with women?”

          Bob glanced over. “What?”

          “I said, ‘How do men put up with women?’”

          Now he smiled. “That’s how.”

          Yes, he nearly got hit in the head with a gourd.

Lucky that guy provides ongoing material. Speaking of material, see if you can see Bob’s inspiration in some of my novels. You can find them all right here--and be sure to order my latest, a brand new booklet called A Little Christmas Prayer. It costs less than a greeting card! Perfect for everybody on your gift list!