Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Our Hat-Wearing God

Monday is my get-a week's-worth-of-work-done-in-five-hours day of the week. It is the one day in seven that my mother comes over to babysit so I can "catch up" on all the household nonsense.

Washing and folding laundry, vacuuming the floors, boxing up last season's clothes, or baking a month's worth of breakfast muffins...you know, all those things that don't go over too well when it's just me + three small children who want all my attention.

I've told my husband numerous times that when she stops coming over to help me, I'll probably just go ahead and have a nervous breakdown. Or give up completely and let the dust bunnies take over my house.

This past Monday was busier than usual because my mother hasn't been here in three weeks. Such a long hiatus meant my usually unkempt house was unbelievably out of control.

Even before she walked through the door, I was already moving in hyper drive. One important task on my list was to box up the Easter decorations. Down came the wreaths, the stuffed bunnies, the plastic eggs, and the five baskets that just didn't want to fit back in the box they came from.

At one point, I did have to stop and search for the Jesus figurine who was not only absent from the tomb, but absent from his usual spot by the angel. But other than that, I mindlessly tried to rush through this chore.

And that's when Wyatt came in to find me putting away the wonderfulness that is Easter. As expected, he proceeded to pour out as much angst as his three-year-old self could manage while simultaneously peppering me with dozens of questions about why was I putting up the tomb, what about egg hunting, and (when everything else failed) "But why?".

As I pulled out the sunflowers and red, white, and blue decorations for Memorial Day, he picked up a circle of hydrangea flowers I sometimes use to encircle a candle on our dining room table.

" It's a God hat," he said matter of factly, trying to make the circle stay on his head.

I didn't get it.

"It's a God hat," he repeated, then said "ouch; it hurt my head."

Only then did I realize the connection my small child had made.

This past month, he's loved touching his Grandmama's crown of thorns that she made years ago and displays each Easter. Where I saw fake flowers needing to be shoved in a hole so I could get back to work, He saw the crown of thorns worn by the son of God.

All I could say was, "Yes, son. It's a God hat."

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