On this the tenth day of the second month of the 2000 and 9th year, so let it written, so let it be done. I harken unto thee to heed these words and hold them close to thy chest. For they hold the key to a peaceful existence that is hitherto now been nonexistent for you.
It has been brought to my attention that many a Sunday School worker, Preschool volunteer and Mom's Day Out teacher has had a run-in or thorny word with my precocious youngster. That needn't be. For you see, just across the pond you will find me soaking up Scripture as the clergyman recites his verse and key...
On this day, Tuesday, February 10, 2009 let it go down in the annals (oh, I said it. Oh, yes I did) of modern history that what I'm saying is true and I mean it totally and completely and I. Ain't. Kidding. Because if you want to be able to enjoy your job and not dread it with every fiber of your being then you will want to hear what I am about to say.
Recently I have heard account of the atrocities my youngster is raising in one very well built Sunday School Program. I apologize now for this. But let me go on record as saying this, okay? Remember it.
Don't forget it.
Come get me.
Doesn't matter where I am. Doesn't matter what I'm doing. Doesn't matter if I'm singing in the choir. Or making notes in my Bible. I don't care if I'm on stage singing a solo and just about to break out into interpretive dance - Come. Get. Me.
This is how I was raised. And this is how she shall be raised.
When I was 7 years old my mother was playing the piano in the front of the church. I would not / could not shut up during the prayer time. My mother got up off of the piano, walked down four aisles, grabbed me by the arm and drug me up on stage to sit with her until the service was over. For another 19 minutes I sat while perspiration dripped down my 7 year old head. My stomach was in knots because I knew as soon as we reached our driveway at home I had indeed, met my doom.
Remi can look forward to the same kind of life.
So if she cries, or screams, throws tantrums or kicks. If she tells you she will not put down the play-dough and that she doesn't want to get off the slide. If she decides that Goldfish don't sound that great to her and she'd rather they fly across the room. Come. Get. Me.
If she growls or sneers, if she slaps or kicks. If she shirks or screeches or hits or rolls her eyes. Come. Get. Me.
And if you decide that coming to get me is too much trouble and I am, in fact, in the middle of the 2nd verse of a choir song, then I give you full authority to do your dead level best in correcting that situation - and sister, I back you up 100%! Because the rule that always applied in my home growing up also applied in the Attorney Generals home as he was growing up - and it stands for our kiddos as well - "The teacher is right and you is wrong."
So let it be written. So let it be done.