Godly Humor

This Advent, we had a tiny Nativity set that was unbreakable for the boys to play with. Mary got lost almost the first day we set it out (no worries, we found her yesterday in a bin of toys in the basement). Our biggest problem was Andrew eating the baby Jesus. Guess it was a little too tiny. Andrew's favorite part of the Nativity scene in our church was the sheep. He wanted to pet them and kept barking at them. I guess they looked a little too much like doggies instead of lambs.
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So, as you Catholics know, the Sunday after Christmas is the feast of the Holy Family. The gospel reading is Jesus getting lost in the temple. Fr. Jerry at St. Agnes gave a great homily about how, in a way, it was a mistake that Mary and Joseph made and how all parents make mistakes. A few minutes after Mass, Scott and I were visiting with some old neighbors and family friends. We hear Fr. Jerry come over the loud speaker and ask if anyone has lost a little boy. Looking back to the vestibule, we see Father carrying a slightly confused Andrew. I had to run back to rescue him, so everyone knew I was the guilty party. Like Father said, I was in good company in the parental mistakes department!
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Please remember to never walk on ice with your hands in your pockets, especially if said pockets have your car keys in them. Scott did this one evening after a dinner out - he slipped on the ice and the tip of his key jammed into the palm of his hand. It took a little work to dislodge the key, and the wound bore a striking resemblance to Christ's stigmata. We contend that Jesus complained far less for far greater wounds than Scott had. And, just in case Scott starts to get a Messiah complex, we can gently remind him that no only can he not walk on water, he can not walk on frozen water either.
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Conversation overheard after the Consecration at Mass last Sunday:
Luke: Daddy, what's that Father's holding?
Scott: That's the body of Christ
Luke: Does it have any dairy in it? (recall his and Patrick's dairy allergy)
Scott: No
Luke: YES! (said excitedly, as if it should be accompanied with a fist pump)
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And finally, we were having lasagna for dinner, and Joe couldn't contain his joy. He ran around the house singing "Lasagna in the Highest" (to the tune of "Hosanna in the Highest")