In church yesterday, Caleb was slouching and drinking his sippy cup. He propped his feet on the pew in front of us and started sliding his feet up and down and up and down and up and down...then kicking. Kicking, Kicking, Kicking...
After a while, I leaned over and, in my new and improved fatherly third person condemnation, said, "Caleb, let's not put our feet on the chair and kick, this is Heavenly Father's house and we don't want to put our feet on God's chairs, do we?".
That looked like it hit home. Solemnly, he put his feet down and sat up. A few minutes later, I felt uncomfortable, so I shifted a little and crossed my legs and my shoe was barely touching the pew in front of me...and in front of Caleb. He noticed this and slapped my ankle and said, (loudly, as my children have only two volumes, LOUD and "standing-in-front-of-the-amplifier-of-a-roadhouse-band-playing-skynnard-songs" loud), "GET YOUR FOOT OFF OF GOD'S STUFF!"
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