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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Are you ready? Picture eighty-seven children, practicing for a Christmas show in a sales barn that does not have heat or a sound system. A skunk died somewhere in here a few hours ago. Many are screaming. Some are crying. Many do not know me. I am new in town, and obviously crazy. It is freezing cold. I had unwisely told all the mommies to do their Christmas shopping and leave all eighty-seven children with me without any other adult chaperones. I could be a killer. I guess no one understood that because they did. We were all sobbing when they returned to pick up their children. I did not show it on the outside. I was too "nice". I was sobbing on the inside, trying to figure out how to save face when it failed, flopped, and was the worst show they had ever seen. It came to me a few hours later after I had my heart attack and died twice. I called six mommies and gave them parts. One was the narrator, because she knew the children's names. Which was a much better start than I had. Two others would get them on and off the stage. Did I mention I telephoned every number in the church directory to see if anyone could figure out how to rig up a star that lit up on the back of a pick up that we could all follow from the church to the manger (aka sales barn) the night of the program? The man who could do it was named Ziegwier. The last name in the book, so I called them all. It was the best Sunday School Christmas play in the history of the world because I was the last car to get there, due to me orchestrating so much stuff at the church, and the six women had it all going beautifully and well by the time I parked clear in the back and ran in there. I sat back and relaxed, knowing God was in the house.
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