Not A Prayer

"That's why they call it faith," the Lovely Bride was saying as I walked in the door.

"That's why I call it stupid," said my middle son.

Nothing like coming home to a conversation about religion.

"What's three times twelve?" blurted out my youngest. We all turned to look at him.

"Never mind," he said. "I remember."

"Are you serious?" asked my oldest. "That's your math homework?"

"Just a little bit of it," said the youngest, somewhat defensively.

"What else do you have to do?" I asked. "Count to fifteen without removing your socks?"

His brothers laughed. Not the Lovely Bride.

"Stop it," she warned me.

"Come on," I said. "This is advanced math?"

"It's part of a bigger problem," said the youngest.

"Oh, just like you," I said.

His brothers laughed again.

"You two are the rest of the problem," I told them.

"Don't you have somewhere to go?" the middle boy asked me.

"Someone told me to go to hell today," I said. "So here I am."

"You told us he had to work longer hours at his new job," the oldest said to the Lovely Bride.

"That's what I thought," she said wistfully.

"I love you, you love me, we're a happy family," I sang.

"He's not really our father, is he?" the middle boy asked his mother.

"Oh ye of little faith," I said.