We do, however, take any and every opportunity to
We want the boy to know what other religions, cultures, and communities believe and how they celebrate. If that includes food, then we're all a little happier. And educated. And fat.
So in honor of Fat Tuesday, I headed over to the local Publix to buy a King Cake. The traditional King Cake has the baby Jesus baked inside, but in the Publix version, he comes taped to the lid.
My friend, M, went on a similar quest for a King Cake with a plastic Baby Jesus. For some crazy reason, her cake box had no baby. She sent her husband back to Publix for 3 more cakes. None of them had a Baby Jesus. Several people had theories, but I think someone went through those boxes and cleaned out the babies. Sicko.
Before we ate our cake, I un-taped the plastic baby, flipped the cake over, and smashed him into the layers of sugar and cream cheese. (The more I think about it, the more bizarre the entire ritual seems.) We devoured the whole thing in about a day and a half, and the boy got the piece with the baby in it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he stabbed into every area of the cake with a knife before he actually cut a slice. (More and more bizarre by the minute.)
The plastic Baby Jesus hung out on the kitchen island for a few days, and then I saw him in the boy's bathroom... sitting on the counter.
Almost a week had gone by when I realized I hadn't seen him. We were getting in the car, and the boy shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and said,
"Wheeeew! I thought that was Baby Jesus in my pocket."
"Ummm.... why would Baby Jesus be in your pocket? Where is he, by the way?" I said.
Without any hesitation, he said, "He's been going to school."
"He's been doing WHAT?" I asked.
"Going to school." He said it like you might say, "I have a math test." Or, "I need pencils."
"Just how many times has Baby Jesus been to school?"
"Lots. Don't worry, though... He only comes out at lunch, because we don't want him to be taken away."
Truthfully, I wasn't worried about Baby Jesus being taken away. I was worried about the phone call I might receive from the school office. Or the school Security Officer... whose main station is the cafeteria.
"What are you going to do if Officer B sees him?" I asked.
"Oh, he already has. He came by our table, and we showed him Baby Jesus, and he even held him."
The boy rolled his eyes as I said, "Baby Jesus needs to come home."
"He can't right now," he said. "I don't exactly have him."
"Who exactly has him?" I asked.
"My friend has him at his house," he said. "He's making him some clothes. We were feeling bad because he's naked."
"Well, as soon as he gets some clothes and comes back to school, I'd like you to bring him home."
He rolled his eyes again, protested, and tried to convince me the tiny plastic Baby Jesus would not get him into trouble. He said something about Baby Jesus being the highlight of lunch, and he probably said something about me ruining all his fun.
I reminded him it's my job to ruin his fun, and I take it seriously.
It's been a few days since that conversation, so I asked the boy last night about Baby Jesus. He is, apparently, still at the friend's house. He's still naked, but I have a sneaky suspicion he has been back to school. How do I even begin that phone call with another mom?
"Hi! I was wondering if our naked plastic Baby Jesus is at your house? Could you send him home please?"
My poor friend, M, finally did get her Baby Jesus. Another friend who knew of the missing Publix babies was at a (real) baby shower and stole a plastic baby from the centerpiece and brought it to her. I guess it's not technically Baby Jesus, but my friend, M, was satisfied.
I may have to make a surprise appearance at lunch to confiscate Baby Jesus. There's nothing like your mom walking into Middle School lunch to take away your plastic baby.
While I'm there, I may take lunch to Officer B. The man who is the first line of protection in the school took a few minutes to goof around with a table full of 7th grade boys.
And their mascot, Baby Jesus.
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