Bumblebee has the honor of placing the tithe envelope into the collection basket at mass. On Sunday, she examined the envelope and asked me if it was a 'special' dollar bill that was in there. I usually enclose a check, but put cash in there this time, so I wasn't sure where her question was leading. I explained that it was a regular bill, nothing special. She looked up at me, with those serious, inquisitive eyes, and nodded her head towards the men who were collecting the baskets at the end of the pews.
"How are those guys going to get that money up to God if it's just a regular dollar?" She asked.
My little man isn't so little these days. He'll be 12 in a few weeks. Yesterday he wasn't feeling well, so I worked from home while he rested all day. It was nice having him at home with me, even if he did sleep most of the day. He was feeling much better towards the end of the day, and he told me about a song that he wrote.
I asked him to sing it to me and he did, though he said he'd only finished the chorus. His inspiration for music is, sadly, his father's old heavy metal cassette tapes. So it didn't surprise me that the song he sang had an Iron Maiden-esque flavor to it. I believe the song was called, "Fight No More".
There's nothing quite like a heavy metal song about death and fighting being sung by the sweetest little voice you'll ever hear. I much prefer the style of the Latin song that he's practicing for honor choir, but I'll never tell him that.
She's got my back. The Husband was giving me a neck massage the other night and he pointed to a gray hair of mine.
Hollywood's instant response was: "You've got WAY more of them than she does, Dad."
And, here's the transcript of a text conversation Hollywood and I had yesterday. It doesn't show the best side of my daughter, but it cracked me up. Which probably says a lot about me too, when you think about it:
H: So I'm here in chorus and we're picking solos for our Wicked songs... Some of these girls are so horrible, I want to kill a bab(text is cut off at this point.)
M: You want to kill a baby?!! Argh!
H: I want to rip out these girls' voice boxes.
M: Hee. You're mean.
H: At least I can sing.
H: Unless I'm like some of these girls who think they can but they actually can't to save their life.
M: No. You're good for real.