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We Had A Splenda Time

Everyone has their own spiritual path, and I respect it. Until Pascha. When our Orthodox Easter comes around, everyone in my household is forced to go to church. They can sin their butts off all year, but when it turns midnight, and the Paschal liturgy starts, I want those butts dressed up and sitting in the pews. Then standing. Then sitting. Then standing.  What I want and what actually happens usually disagree. On Holy Saturday, I cleaned our place for the Easter Bunny, just like I do for any visitors. At 10pm, Zach, who is now four, claimed he was “starving” for spaghetti. We’re supposed to fast before communion which should be easy for little kids because they are happy to starve. Wasting my time and money each mealtime is their passion. Not that night. I offered alternatives that would take 2 minutes to prepare, but he only wanted spaghetti. Once again, I was put in the position of setting limits, or having a crabby child in public. I chose the one where strangers don’t silently a

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