Way to ruin a moment, dog.

Last night was a good night.  The mister's grandpa made a potato bar for dinner and then we had a family night with the girls.  Our religion suggests we have "Family Home Evening" on Mondays, but we never have the girls on Mondays; we have them on Wednesdays.  And we've decided those family nights could become invaluable.  It's pretty much the only time we have to formally teach them about...whatever that week necessitates.

Sunday morning, we found out the girls had a blow up with their mom about the divorce.  It became clear that we needed to be more explicit about the divorce and why we choose to go to church.   So last night we did.  The Mister did a terrific job.  He talked about decisions he had made and didn't attempt to speak for their mom.  He told them about how the church helped him through that difficult time.  And I backed him up by explaining my experience about being the child in a divorce situation.  We talked about how both parents made the decision and no one was to blame.  They are allowed to be sad or angry or ask any question they desire.  The girls' seemed to be listening...as much as 8-11 year olds are capable of anyway.

Later that night after the girls had gone back to their mom's, The Mister and I were discussing it.  How did we feel it went?  Were they listening?  As we talked,  I felt real companionship.  We were together on this nebulous path of teaching these cute girls who are just trying to figure out who to be and what their lives mean. I felt an element of the sacred.

And while this intimacy exchanged between us, the air suddenly filled with the most putrid dog fart.  It was a mix of dead animal and rotten eggs.  Indescribably terrible.  We laughed as we ushered the dog out of the room. I love this messy, unpredictable life.