If I were Funny

If I was a clever writer, and had the vernacular of this woman, then I'd have a funny blog too. I think she is hilarious! Every. Stinkin. Time. She doesn't post pictures or ideas or motivational statements. Its just her law school, married life, poor student moments with an insane twist of humor and curve balls. I love it! Here's a laugh for you from Rebecca. (my cousin's wife)

Yesterday was madness. Our ward had its primary program, and can I just say whoever thought it would be prudent to pack the stand with 100 fidgeting, giggling, whining, "I have to go to the bathroom"-ing children is beyond delusional. Scott and I both had to sit up with the kids and regulate. I spent the entire time trying to keep my coughing and shaking under control, while watching every agonizing minute pass on the clock in front of me. When it was over, my first instinct was to head for the door and keep on walking. I'm pretty sure that if you're already sick, it's not the best idea to spend three hours in the company of small children, who not only catch everything, but manage to mutate what they catch, so when they boomerang it back to you, the sickness is nastier and even more resistant to drugs and bed rest. But it was also Scott's first day as an official primary worker, and I knew I couldn't leave him alone with our class. That would just be too mean. So I sucked it up and went to primary. Our lesson was on sabbath day observance, and Scott was quizzing our brilliant 5-year-olds on what things we should and should not do on Sunday. There was a girl next to me, screaming in the corner, still traumatized by the fact that her mother had made her come to class (which literally required prying her off mom's leg and quickly blocking egress from the door). Despite my best efforts to calm her, she was still shrieking and making it hard to hear what was being said. I gathered that the standard primary answers were bouncing around the room. "Don't hit your sister." "Do what mom and dad ask." "Read scriptures." "Go to church." And then another little voice piped up from the front of the room, loud enough to be heard over the separation-anxiety poster child at my side. "Don't look at naked pictures!" Scott and I looked at each other as we tried our hardest not to die laughing, which effort, I might add, was unsuccessful. That caught even crying girl off guard, causing her to momentarily forget what she was protesting. I'm not sure what made the kid think that particular response was the one we were looking for, but since we couldn't argue with the veracity of his answer, he got a gummy bear for a correct response.