Ah, Life

My mother and I had our annual baking day on Friday.  This year (our sixth year), we made SIXTEEN DOZEN homemade gingersnaps and FOURTEEN loaves of pumpkin bread.

We also ate - and I swear to you I'm not exaggerating - a round dozen cookies EACH. 

They were delicious, but my bowels may never forgive me for that kind of abuse.

This year, our baking day happened to coincide with the date of baby Paige's very first Christmas program.  Which meant that mom got to join me at the performance.

(Here we are watching Paige)

Paige and all her little friends (sixty children all under the age of 5) from Mother's Day Out performed various holiday tunes.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Most children just stood there on the stage looking dumbstruck while being assaulted with eleventy jillion camera flashes. 

But my Paige - forever the showoff - performed loud and proud for all of us - complete with all the proper hand motions.  I'll admit, I was beaming.  That is, until my little rock star SAT DOWN on stage in the middle of the performance and began PICKING HER NOSE WITH GUSTO.

I mean it.  She was digging for gold all the way up to her second knuckle.

It took everything I could do not to just die DEAD right there in that church.  Instead, I said many rapid prayers to Jesus asking that he PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE just this once not let her EAT her boogers.

The Heavenly Father heard my prayer, and I was saved from certain Death by Humiliation.

But just barely.

And now you know why I ate all those cookies: Comfort Food.