Every night at bedtime we say prayers with the girls. Quinn gets all into it, excited to shout “Amen!” like no one I’ve ever heard in any of the buttoned-down churches I’ve ever attended. Saoirse rolls her eyes the entire time she’s making the sign of the cross (kind of like her non-Catholic father! Hey-oh! No, just kidding. Sometimes I think he’s the best Catholic in the house), but goes through the motions because dammit we are raising her right and she WILL do this.
No? That’s not how you ingrain a sense of faith? Well.
We rolled in from the beach at 11:15 Friday night, a day early, because we are crazy fools and wanted to be home to catch Notre Dame’s season opener at 9-are-you-kidding-me-o’clock in the morning. Oh, and apparently because pregnant ladies can actually hallucinate when they’re sleep-deprived and I wanted to see what that was like (not kidding. More on that at some point). We’d eaten dinner in Rehobeth at the most fantastic oyster house ever, where the kids ate, as they did most nights on this vacation, their weight in steamed shrimp in Old Bay (if you think my vegetarian side feels guilty about this, yes). Saoirse has always surprised us with her memory–how can she remember a baseball game she attended two years ago? How does she know what the kids’ play area looked like and what she did there?–but our dear Quinn is still young enough that she’s not there yet. Or so we thought.
So we’re sitting on Quinn’s bed last night, starting to say prayers, which we sort of unconsciously direct toward SK since she’s older. Every night we ask the girls (well, Saoirse, and then Quinn usually repeats what her sister says) to thank God for something that happened to them that day (I stole this idea from a friend–thank you, Leah C!). But last night, as we made the sign of the cross and David and I looked at SK to start the prayer, we heard a little voice pipe up:
“Thank you for orange juice and going for shtrimps!”
And there was Quinn, grinning at us, proud and excited to have been a part of the game. We were flabbergasted.
Thank God for orange juice and going for shtrimps. I think it’s the best prayer I’ve ever heard.