Equipped with the (old) hymn book, baby dolls and even bread... I played church.
It was one of my favorite past times.
Recently I was telling my friend that one of my children's favorite things to do together is 'play church.' My friend's question was, "Did you teach/tell them to play?"
No. I NEVER DID. In fact, when I told my children I used to do the same thing, they were surprised.
My kids sit on the stairs, use Megan's music stand, and give talks, say prayers and sing songs.
With the exception of them playing Primary, whereas I always played Sacrament Meeting, it is eerily similar. (Although I played alone with a couple of dolls instead of siblings.)They are amusing to listen to.
(Even if I do feel mildly resentful that I never had a music stand, microphone and/or real people to play with.)
They imitate their primary teachers, leaders and choristers.
I don't think I've ever listened without laughing and smiling from another room.
Are these type of behaviors hereditary? Are my kids doomed to turn out like me?
I love it! That is one thing my kids have never played...but its pulling teeth just to get them to the real thing! SO cute!
ReplyDeleteThat is hilarious! And I think it would be wonderful if your kids turned out like you.
ReplyDeleteIf it's hereditary then my children will be playing school not church. I guess my priorities were a little different ha ha.
ReplyDeleteI can relate to this. When I was just a little Devil I did something similar. It always used to amaze me how much better the sacrament bread would taste in comparison to the very same bread at home. I mean, I knew they were just using the same cheap spongy Wonder bread that my mom would buy at the Wonder/Hostess thrift shop, but being told that I could take "just one" and knowing it had been blessed did something in my brain to make it taste so different that I felt compelled to try to reproduce the phenomenon. When I would get home from church, I would break up a couple of pieces of bread just like the sacrament boys would do and proceed to eat them one piece at a time while closing my eyes and imagining myself in a sacrament meeting to complete the effect. Unfortunately, it was never quite the same and my hand was forced to round out my act of blasphemy by repeating the sacrament prayers over the bread before indulging. When that didn't work, I figured the missing ingredient must have been the priesthood and so I relented, conceding momentary defeat.
ReplyDeleteBy the time I was finally old enough to bless and pass the sacrament myself, my insatiable appetite for holy Wonder bread returned and peaked with a vengeance, and instead of disposing of the uneaten emblems of Christ's body in the rubbish bin like any good Ironic Priesthood holder was supposed to, I would steal away in the shadows of the side room where the sacrament got prepared and gluttonously stuff my face with handfuls at a time of this glorious manna from heaven whose secrets had so thoughtlessly eluded me in my youth. God punished me for my obscene display of reckless abandon and unchecked gluttony by cursing me with obesity, but I got got the last laugh: I peed in the baptismal font of the Jordan River Temple. OK, that last part was lie, but that doesn't mean I didn't fantasize about it.