The Gasser

I'm not going to say which son of mine wearing an Old Navy sweatshirt farted in church this morning, loudly and wetly, forcing me to struggle with my own composure. Why do I find it so funny? I don't know. Jonathan had already raged for an hour, maybe I needed JoJo to lighten the mood? He claims it was not him but Jose who let one, he'd been busy making faces at the baby in front of us, causing her to cry when her dad caught on to their shenanigans and took her out of the sanctuary.

Both Paloma and Jonathan have had meltdowns since Jose was home. Both times he's been the one to attempt to reason with them. I muffled a guffaw last night when I heard him remind Paloma that she'd been the second of their five to holler, "I wanna go live there!" when she'd seen the video of our family nearly six years ago.

I've totally enjoyed Jose's weekend at home with us.

Every one of my eight kids had a jam up time at the retreat and they all did well, all made me proud.

A teacher called this afternoon just to tell me how much progress she's seen this year in a troubled child of mine - a child I once feared I might have to homeschool. A good news phone call? Wow.

I even got to get more done outside than I first planned and Sarah wrote a funny blog post.