Sanctus

"Anna, come here," I said sweetly. It was morning and Anna is great for cuddles in the morning.

"I not Anna," she said, already in pretend-mode. "I Jesus."

Oh.

It should be noted here that through no fault of my upbringing (I have to write that because the following makes my mother absolutely nuts) I have been sporadic at best with my kids' religious education. I was the child who went to church twice a week, for several hours on Sundays, until the week I went off to college. Most of my daughters' church time is logged when we visit my in laws. It's not that I don't want to go to church, it's that I'm still looking for the right one for our family and that's easier said than done. At home, we pray at bedtime and read some Bible stories and watch some Christian-themed DVDs (Veggie Tales, anyone?) and I tell myself I have time before they look at me like I'm nuts when I suggest attending a house of worship.

All that back story is to say that while Mary and Anna are enthusiastic about church and the Bible and all (they know Easter is more than candy to us and Christmas is more than Santa and presents)...sometimes they don't get all the facts right. Like the time Mary told me she was going to send her Christmas list to Baby Jesus, for instance.

Back to this morning. "Anna is Baby Jesus and I am Baby Jesus' Mommy," Mary began, "And this dolly is Baby Jesus' older sister." (You see what I mean?)

"...and we all live in a stable and Baby Jesus was BORN IN A STABLE, and we were ALL BORN IN THE STABLE..." at this point "Baby Jesus" is trying to do somersaults on the chair and Mary is reaching Lear Jet decibel levels and it's not even 8 a.m.

"Wow," I say, cutting off the flow of non-canonical Gospel According to Mary. "Can Jesus make me some wine?" (WHAT?)

"Mo-om," Mary said, as though explaining to a complete moron. "She's BABY Jesus."

Right. Of course. That's what's illogical about this whole thing.

"So I'll go ask Joseph to do it. JOOOOOOOOOOSEPH!" Mary runs off into the other room and returns with a plastic cup. "You still want some wine?" I am the world's worst mother.

What, Joe, no loaves n' fishes? I mean, we could probably get lunch all set if we put our minds to it. And this COULD just be a blemish but maybe it's leprosy. You can't be too careful with lepro-

"MOMMY!"

"Yes Anna?" (I can't actually address her as Jesus. It seems blasphemous. As if asking your two year old to miracle you up a nice Sauvignon Blanc isn't putting your butt firmly in the handbasket.)

"NOW I THE BIG, BAD MUFFIN! YAAAAAAAHAHAHA!"

Fine, can you make me wine?

(As an aside - or "stuff that doesn't really merit its own post but that's okay" : Lily turned five months old today, we had Breakfast for Dinner again and I "surprised" Tim by making the girls Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes and making him some decidedly not-safe-for-work shapes that may question his heterosexuality. Just another day in paradise.)