Nativity

We have a nativity set that I really like. It's a beautiful hand-painted thing that has tidbits of scripture from Jesus' multiple birth narratives inscribed on the various characters. And it's also been the source of a secret family dispute.

You know I'm a bit anal, right? A bit on the control freak side? Well, every Christmas time when I pull this sucker out, I like to arrange the characters just so (*pleased smirk*). This activity is also accompanied by a protracted lecture about how this is not a nativity set to touch, and if someone else's hands want to touch a nativity set, they can go play with their Fisher Price version. The set where, in its original state, the Fisher Price people forgot to include Jesus.

Stupid Fisher Price.

But anyway, after arranging the characters just so, I noticed Annemarie fiddling around with it one day. I was amused by her behavior. She is, uh, like me in that she's a bit on the perfectionistic side. Actually, all of the verbal children are like this -- it's Cole, after all, who cries when his banana breaks, and who gets wound up when the orange is not properly peeled. (Note to self: save for adult children's therapy). Anyway, Annemarie had arranged all of the characters, who are in prostrate or other sorts of adoring positions, in perfect lines around the Baby Jesus. I put them back in the way I arranged them to see if she'd notice. By that evening, they were back in their parallel lines. This went on for several days, with us secretly stealing away to rearrange the nativity set. It had turned funny -- really funny; one of the things that I love about her present age is how she's really understanding humor, and that even the most serious things can have a genuinely amusing side to them.

So it was in this spirit that I got tickled today when, upon entering the dining room (the natural place for a holy family's resin replica to be stationed, of course) I noticed that the nativity characters are all huddled together. They look like a holy football team, with Jesus as their coach in the center. But then I pictured Jesus being like any other football coach, screaming at the team -- Baby Jesus sweating, ripping off his headgear, and spitting in the faces of those shepherds who wouldn't drop their friggin staffs to catch the ball.

Ok, now I'm thinking holy thoughts.