“God’s watching you, Mom.”
That’s what Asa just told me. He’s down at the other end of the table peeling a banana.
“God’s WATCHING you.”
Asa goes to a little Methodist day school three days a week (so I can run) and it’s easy to picture his teacher, Mrs. S., leveling this warning at a room full of 3 year-olds. It certainly stopped me mid-bite of cream of wheat. (Especially since I had a bit of a melt down when Eliot told me he was working late tonight — after I chose to sleep in rather than do my three-hour run at 4am — because I figured I could just do it this evening when he got home at his usual time. “Yes, God watches your father’s patient tolerance of me daily, son.”) Kind of makes God sound a bit too much like the Elf on the Shelf, doesn’t it?
Oh!, and now from the floor where he’s playing with little Lego men, “God made the bad man special too, mom.” Good grief, the orthodoxy this morning! Why did I resolve to only drink one cup of coffee a day this year?