A Button?

Do you remember that movie: The Cutting Edge?

Do you remember when Doug & Kate totally throw their first routine in the Olympics over whether or not Doug should button the top button of his shirt?

And afterward, their coach yells at them:

"A button? A button?"

Last Sunday, this particular line was running through my head quite loudly.

Justin and I had a fight about cereal.

"Cereal? Cereal?"

As a result of this fight (which really deserves no further discussion, since it was entirely pointless), I determined I would not lift a finger - not a finger, I say - to get the girls ready for Church.

Instead I leisurely showered, ate, and read my scriptures.

(I did tend GQ. Infants under a year should be spared the psychosis of their parents. Of course so should two and four year olds... but whatever.)

I knew the hardest part would be when I actually went to Church - primarily the fact that my girls' hair would not be done.

GASP

In case you have not been raised or slightly brainwashed by the Andersen hens I would like to inform you that not doing your girls' hair is:

HORRIBLE

HORRIBLE

HORRIBLE!!!!

But, I gritted my teeth and kept my fingers neatly folded.

The people at Church were very polite.

One girl said to E: "Your hair is so pretty today. But it looks kind of different."

And while E - I believe, from the way she described it - informed her primary teachers that she: "looked like a ragamuffin" they told her that was absolutely NOT true.

Since she loves them very much, she was entirely comforted and able to enjoy the opportunity of having "down" hair.

M, of course, had no clue, except for the fact that she had to keep pushing her hair out of her eyes because she couldn't see.

Today, no such fights occurred, and two hours prior to Church we were all fed, clothed, and properly combed.

And what did we have for breakfast???

Oatmeal.

I am no longer buying cereal. It is much too hazardous to our family's health.

(Although E does roll her eyes every time I place the oatmeal in front of her, and M still asks emphatically for "Maties," but they'll soon forget. Right?)

Right.

**** Of course, E did notice that her mother happened to have cereal this morning. Come on. Oatmeal is disgusting. Just don't tell.