"Mama, why did that truck take away Jesus?"
"Why did that truck take away Jesus? That red truck that took away Jesus, mama."
"What are you talking about?"
(A little exasperated now, because Maggie has figured out that I'm not too bright in the morning.) "THAT BIG RED TRUCK TOOK AWAY JESUS FOR A NAP. Can we wait for Jesus to come back to the park?"
"Ummmm. Yeah. Okay. At home though, because Mommy needs some more coffee."
"Mama, my booboos healed!"
I am the first to admit that I can be a little thick in the morning (making lunches, forcing people from their beds, coercing same people into clothing since 6:45am -- I blame all that.) So when Maggie pulls things from her teeny tiny three-year old memory, sometimes it takes me a minute (or 30) to catch up. When the very able Cheverly Town crew removed the creche following the holidays, we happened to be walking by and Maggie was a little panicky about what they might be doing to Jesus. I told her that Jesus needed a really long nap in a quiet place, just like she does sometimes. This morning, it's come back to haunt me, and I really should learn something about the effects of half-as**d easy theology and toddlers. Should is an important word, since I'm sure I'll share some other nugget with the seven and under set soon. Thankfully, summer break is just around the corner, and I'll have several months to finesse whatever I come up with before Paul heads back to parochial school.
Fantastic parenting, once again.