Last Saturday I took all of the children shopping and it will NEVER happen again! I wouldn't have done it, but it was necessary because all of them needed new Sunday shoes and clothes, and you can't buy shoes without trying them on. Whoever is in the kids' Sunday shoe making business is filthy rich , because have you noticed that new ones get tight much faster than tennis shoes or any other kind of shoe? I feel like every Sunday we are cramming the kids' feet into their shoes while they complain that they don't fit anymore. Then I reply, "We just got these so you have to wear them one more week". We then forget they are too tight until the following Sunday when we shove them on yet again! Finally, I went to buy some new ones, and in the future I will take each child individually, because the adventure was more than I could handle! It took forever for everyone to A) find shoes they liked, and B) find the right fit. We then took even longer picking out Sunday clothes, and a lady that worked there had to tell Blake and James to "Settle down!" because they were wrestling in the aisle. We finally made it up to pay, and after the cashier began ringing up our purchases, I realize that Blake no longer has the shirt and tie I mistakenly let him carry. So, we leave our stuff and retrace our steps around the entire store to hunt down the missing items. We then go BACK to the register. Yeah! we can get out of here now, right? WRONG! Marinne chose her own Sunday shoes and placed two different sizes in the box! Are you kidding? We leave the register AGAIN and go back to the shoes to search through the boxes for the right size, which is, of course, no where to be found. We end up getting a matching pair of the next size up, (they get tight again all to quickly anyway, right?) and finally pay the cashier (third time's a charm), who no doubt thinks we are the craziest bunch he's ever seen!
"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbor's children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was here and that I really lived." -Marjorie Pay Hinckley