Momnesia

And That's Why We Don't Go to Church

My sister gave me a Jesus action figure one year for my birthday. Don't start about it, people. I put it away, carefully keeping it in the box.


Fast-forward to Hurricane Emerson.

Emmie somehow found it and gasped in delight: "Mama! You buyed me a present?!"

Me: "Um, no, sweetie. That's Mommy's doll."

Emmie, brow furrowed, looking at the action figure with confusion: "But... mama, dis your queen?"

Me (snorting): "No, it's not a queen, sweetie. It's a man with long hair."

I took the doll and chucked it on top of the bookshelf in the hallway, intending to deal with it later, and went to work. Of course, Emmie greeted me at the door with doll in hand. Scott had given in to her cajoling. Thanks, sweetie!

Emmie dragged that thing all over the place.

"Queen Jesus say to gib me some ice cream," she told me after dinner.

"Yeah? Well, do you think the queen would like to go in the trash can?"

And at bath time, as we played together, Emmie began making up a story.

"I'll be da witch, and you be da queen," she said, handing over the toy. "EEEE-heee-heee! I'm da witch! An' I'm goin' turn you into a frog!"

"Ohhhh," I cooed, positiong Jesus' arms to reach out to her. "Sounds like somebody needs a hug."

"NOOO! I'm da witch! I'm a bad lady!"

"Let me hold you. Tell me how you feel," I snickered, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. I wanted to play along - after all, it was just a piece of plastic - but something wouldn't allow me to turn Jesus into Rambo.


"I'm going to bam you!" Emmie said, brandishing her imaginary magic wand.

"Be careful, or I'm going to sentence you to eternal damnation," Jesus warned gently.

"NO!" Emmie cackled.

"Why not?"

"Because I already lib der!"

Jeez. Game over.