Life From The Confines of a Monkey Backpack

You know those kids. You see 'em at theme parks and shopping malls. They're about three feet tall, and have a leash strapped to their monkey backpack.

Moms seem to be split 50/50 as to whether or not it's a good idea. Parents who want to allow freedom while still keeping the children close by are pro-monkey. Those who think the idea is ridiculous, and leashes should be left to the dogs? Anti-monkey, no doubt. 

I never had an opinion... your kid, your tethered monkey-backpack. There are much bigger battles for me to get involved in, like why there is gum stuck to my daughter's hair. Or how 18 nerf bullets are entangled in the Christmas tree, right next to the fragile glass nativity. 

Forget Me Not

You know how it goes. You’re sitting there in traffic, or washing the shampoo out of your hair, or grabbing two silent minutes alone in the locked bathroom before tiny little fingers feel beneath the door (What are they looking for anyway? Are they hoping they can grab ahold of you and rip you back out of the bathroom via that 1.5 inch tall space?)… where was I? Oh yes. You know how it goes. When you forget something. Usually you’re in the middle of something completely unrelated and you remember you were supposed to do something else. Like sign a permission slip. Or pay a bill. Or donate a kidney. Something really really important, and you totally forgot.  It’ll go on your to-do list, if you can remember it all the way through your shower.

Sometimes I think that God forgets when I’ve asked Him for stuff. Like that book query I sent off to