I am so TIRED. We ended up taking F back to school yesterday, after all morning at church and early afternoon at the in-laws', and didn't get home until around 11:00 PM. I am no spring chicken. I'm not sure I ever was, to tell the truth.
I have a lot of stuff I want to talk about but I can't seem to keep my eyes open. So I'll just post this story my mom sent and call it a day.
One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Alex standing in the foyer of the church staring up at a large plaque. It was covered with names with small American flags mounted on either side of it.
The seven year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the pastor walked up, stood beside the little boy, and said quietly, "Good morning Alex." "Good morning Pastor," he replied, still focused on the plaque.
"Pastor, what is this?" he asked. The pastor said, "Well, son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service."
Soberly, they just stood together, staring at the large plaque. Finally, little Alex's voice, barely audible and trembling with fear, asked, "Which service, the 9:45 or the 11:15?"