During church yesterday, I was trying to keep my son quiet. He was wiggling and squirming, and insisting on pinching my nose. To keep with the subject at hand, I whispered, “I have a nose. Do you have a nose?”
“Yeah,” he said, pointing to his own nose.
“Does Jesus have a nose?” I asked, seeing a teaching moment.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Where did Jesus get his nose?” I asked.
“Santa Clause,” he answered so matter-of-factly that I burst into silent laughter -the kind that makes you snort while your shoulders shake uncontrollably.
I also have to add that my son believes his nose is simply called a “no” and that the word “nose” is the plural form. I have no plans of correcting him because there’s nothing cuter than a 3 year old boy trucking toward me and whining, “I bonked my no!”
He also makes it hard to get out of bed when he curls up on me like that.
Have I ever told you that I love being a stay-at-home mom? The only job I’d ever take aside from it is a teaching job, and only then if my kids are old enough to sleep in their own beds, speak the names of their body parts correctly, and find out that Jesus came before Santa.
That’s kind of the whole point of Christmas, right?
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