Even God likes weenies

I was sitting on the couch with Abigail this morning, enjoying a little snuggle time, when she asked me a question.

"Mommy, how many weenies would fit in a jar?"

I just looked at her for a minute, trying to decide what she was really asking me. Did she say 'weenie?' I've never heard her use that word, so I had to question her. "Weenies? What do you mean, 'weenies?'"

She rolled her eyes dramatically and sighed. I know she thinks I'm an idiot. "WEENIES. Like the food."

"Well, I don't know. I guess it would depend on the size of the jar."

"What if the jar was really, really big and long, all the way up to heaven?" This was accompanied by violent hand motions toward the ceiling, chubby little fingers pointing as high as they could reach.

"That would be a big jar. How many weenies do you think it would take to fill it?"

She looked thoughful. "Prob'ly like sixteen. Sixteen is a lot of weenies."

I have to wonder what kind of weenies she's thinking of. Even the quarter pound footlong weenies aren't that big. I asked her, "Do you think, since the jar goes all the way to heaven, that God would eat one of the weenies?"

"Of course he would."

She said it with so matter of factly that it surprised me a little, so I asked her, "You really think God likes weenies?"

The eye roll was almost audible. "Moooommmmmm, everyone likes weenies, because they're hot dogs."

You heard it here first, folks. God likes weenies, with extra mustard.

Funny Sign Sunday

If I knew where this sign was located, I'd be sorely tempted to take my children there.