I Saw A Turtle

The other night after church Trent and I were talking and the entire conversation was a chain of this:

T- So I was talking to [so-and-so] and he said [blah blah blah].
K- I don’t know who that is.
T- He usually sits in the [some quadrant of the church] near [another name I don’t recognize].

It was just story after story of that and I kept thinking, when did you have a chance to talk to all these people?

You know how sometimes an image will just pop into your head and summarize every single thing that is happening?  The image that popped into my head was a recent Sunday when I was wrangling Tate and Holly and my glasses got knocked Daphne Donaghy style and I couldn’t right them for a solid minute. 

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Trent and I started becoming Tevya and Golde from the opening number of Fiddler on the Roof, but it happening.  Except for the master of the house/final word at home part, which as it turns out, doesn’t really work out for Tevya either. 

I’m trying to formulate a plan that connects me to 2015 and keeps me from actually becoming an Imperial Russian housewife, because I did tie a scarf around my hair the other day.  So far the whole plan consists of:  1. Stop reading Charles Dickens, conversation non-starter 2.  Do something impossible.  The impossible thing could be getting a haircut or going to the dentist or gym.

3.  Embrace being Golde.  She’s cool.  She has a nice singing voice and she’s a yeller.  I guess if that’s where this is all heading, I’ll take it.