Yesterday morning Mensa Boy was still sleeping at 9 a.m. Since he's usually on the way out the door to Sunday School by then, I figured he must still be too sick. He's had a terrible cold since he got back from Uruguay.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"Somewhat better, I think" he said.
"Do you feel like bacon?" I asked.
"Do we have any?" he asked.
"No. But IHop does," I replied.
And so we hatched a plan to go to the church of the almighty pancake instead of the little Methodist church down the road. We got the guys up, called Erin to wake her up, and drove to IHop, taking care to go out the back way so we wouldn't go past the little Methodist church.
We arrived home a little while later to a message on our answering machine from my bff Cassie. "Hey. Missed you guys at church. Hope [Mensa Boy's] ok. We prayed for him because Harold said he was real sick."
On a related note, I called Cassie the other day and told her that Harold and the church were getting a little bit personal with the church sign on the highway. On the back side? The side you can hardly see because of the tall Leland Cypresses? It says "Go to church weekly, not weakly."
At least he didn't put my NAME up there...