Monday Morning Quarterback

That thing where the seven year-old begs to go with you to the Christmas breakfast at church and then refuses to eat anything but mini cinnamon buns.

That thing where your colleague, the Head of Staff, crawls around on the sanctuary floor during the Children’s Time bleating like a sheep, unprompted.

That thing where a church member gives the seven year-old a paper bag full of cosmetics that belong to her young adult daughter, who now lives in Texas, and the seven-year old spends an hour organizing it all on her vanity as soon as she gets home.

That thing where several people ask you how your preparations for moving to Chicago are coming along and you have to acknowledge that you haven’t even bought your plane ticket yet.

That thing where the seven year-old, watching The Phantom Menace, puts two and two together and pegs Anakin as Darth Vader.

That thing where you buy your plane ticket to Chicago.

That thing where your struggle to think of a white elephant gift to take to the youth Christmas party is solved by finding the white elephant gift you brought home from last year’s party, the cookie-in-a-cast-iron-skillet that’s been sitting in your pantry for 12 months.

That thing where somebody steals the white elephant gift your brought. Win.

That thing where you’re playing Taboo with high schoolers and the clue is “bikini,” so you just say “pass” and throw the card on the floor.

That thing where you watch two episodes of “The Leftovers” before going to sleep.