Whoops

So this morning I got up and made cinnamon buns for breakfast. First time ever, and it showed. They were fine, I suppose, but for the effort I made it would have been better to just walk four blocks to the bakery which is open at 7:30.

My son went out into the living room and found the stack of old tea tins his father had, in a fit of frustration last night when he was trying to cook a fancy meal for some friends for this evening, cleaned from our cupboards. Unfortunately his fit of fury didn't encompass cleaning the tins of the tea they contained, so we had the inevitable "loose tea on hardwood floor" mishap this morning. Thank God for handheld vacuums, you just KNOW some parent invented those.

The tea tins themselves had labels and assorted sealing stickers on them, and my son presented one of them to me and pressed it, sticky side down, onto my left palm. A small, black, round sticker. A few moments later he found another and stuck it to my right palm and I very humourously noted -- "hey, just like stigmata!"

"Yeah!" he says enthusiastically. "Stigmata!"

This is what passes for religious education on Sunday mornings in this house.

Oh, yes, and I'm so glad I am teaching my son these loaded religious words so irreverently. This is going to go over GREAT when we visit the in-laws this summer.