"Can we have gum?"
"Scratch my back, please."
"Do the Sally in the Garden game on my arm."
"Sam licked my cheek."
"How many more talks until this is over?"
"Hannah pinched my shoulder."
"He kicked my chair; I don't want to sit by him anymore."
You've had Sundays like this, too.
At one point, my littlest homie threw his sketchpad on my lap in utter disgust. He crossed his arms and tears began streaming down his rosie cheeks. I looked inside to see what was causing his breakdown. One of my homie's sketches had outwitted his own. Should I be worried about the pictures below?
First Submission: Boy in a Burning House, No Firemen Available to Save Him
Response: Will the Blind Cops Save You?
Submission #2: Eat This Nuke Cookie, Please, While I Fly Away
Here are the pictures that brought the sketch battle to a screeching halt.
Submission #3 Your Brain Is Gone Forever
Response: You Don't Even Have a Brain
Saying you are brainless is the BIGGEST insult in this nuke-filled, explosive, burning with volcanic fire world.
Please tell me we'll come out of weeks sitting together on the same pew with some appreciation of the Gospel. I do try; I promise. Also, I told them that people, especially brothers, are not for killing, even if it's only in a sketchpad filled with stick figures and destructive imaginations.