Not exactly...

My son loves all things Christmas, so I indulge him a bit and let him keep a few things out all through the year. He has a cd of Christmas music that he listens to during quiet time in his room on some days, one of his favorite bedtime books to read is The Stable Where Jesus Was Born (an adorable book with gorgeous illustrations, by the way), and there is a little nativity magnet set on the fridge that he plays with.

Well, today as his sister was finishing her lunch, he asked me if I wanted him to tell us the story of The Stable Where Jesus Was Born using the magnet set on the fridge. As my heart swelled with pride at the thought that such a precious story is tucked away inside of his heart, I replied that of course Georgia and I would be happy to listen.

It started off good -- Baby Jesus was laying in the sweet smelling hay with Joseph So Tall and Mary By Name looking after him. The sheep came and the shepherds came. It was so adorable to listen to his sweet voice telling such a big story in such a simple way.

"Guess what happened next, Mommy!"

Just the tone in his voice rang the "Uh-oh" alarm in my head, and I knew that we were about to seriously deviate from the original path of the story.

"I don't know, honey. What happened next?"

From behind his back, Mitchell pulls out the playdough garlic press. (My own term there.)

"The CROCODILE came! And he ate Baby Jesus up in one big bite!"

Um, yeah. That just ain't right.