Friday, September 21, 2012

It's YOUR turn to pray!

My husband and I have a mini-battle every night of our lives.

We argue.

About prayer.

Ironic, eh?

It goes like so:

We are cuddling on the couch watching television. (I'm totally into the X-Factor right now.  My man humors me.  But then again, I humor him with all his antique boring car shows.)  10 p.m. rolls around.

Mr. Hotty Pants Pistol:  *yawn*  I'm going to bed. I'm beat.  I gotta get up at 5 to lift. *yawn*

(My husband lifts weights every morning and is stronger than 10 oxen. He is built like a Mack truck and looks super scary. If I weren't his wife I wouldn't mess with him... But I AM his wife and messing with him is in the contract.  It's my JOB.)

Me:  Mmk.  I'm gonna read for a bit. I need to unwind.  I'll go to bed soon.

Mr. Hotty Pants:   So... you want to say a prayer.

Me:  Yup.  Your turn.

Mr. Hotty:  Nope.  It's your turn.

Me:  It is NOT!  I said it last night!

Mr. Pants: No. I said it last night.

Me:  Whatever.  It is TOTALLY your turn.  I'm not saying it.  YOU'RE the patriarch of this household!

Mr. Pants:  Oh.  I see.  The old patriarch of this household card.

Me:  Yup.

We stare at each other real hard until one of us crumbles.  It's usually the person whose turn it really is.

The one praying always rolls the eyes and sighs heavily before beginning, just to let the other know... 

Then we hold hands and pray.

We pray for kind of a long time.  We have a lot to be thankful for. 

We also have a lot of requests for blessings, pretty please with a cherry on top.  Blessings on our children, home, parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, leaders of the church, political leaders, hungry people, sad people, angry people and confused people.

I like praying with my husband.  I even sorta like the mini battle every night of our lives.

Perhaps, however, from now on we should have a system. 

He will pray the even days.  'Cause he is even-tempered.

I will pray the odd days.  'Cause I am odd.