I see an egg...
After breakfast I got into a wrestling match with Wow over the issue of pants, specifically with this being Easter and all, he needed to wear them.
I didn't then have it in me to insist that Munch wear the Easter dress I'd picked out for her. She piled on a favorite assortment of stripes, hearts, and flowers and we headed over to Factor V's house. All day my Facebook feed rolled through pictures of Wow and Munch's friends in miniature bow ties and patent leather shoes.
As we are not the particularly religious sort, Easter can be a difficult holiday to navigate. Actually, that isn't entirely true. LD has never been "the particularly religious sort", whereas I was once a practicing Catholic. Even though I am no longer religious, I don't want my children to think that Easter a holiday dedicated to creepy man-sized bunnies and discolored eggs. Easter, with its emphasis on new life, is also about death and rebirth, forgiveness and redemption. As far as LD is concerned, all of that is fine, so long as there are decorated, hard boiled eggs that will later be made into (and I love the irony) deviled eggs. I hate deviled eggs.
Every night before I leave her bedside, Munch asks me to tell her about my day. I wrote about the problems this line of inquiry can pose at MiM, the gist of which is that I am sometimes unsure about what's appropriate to share with my five year old. Since I wrote that post we've started talking more about death, so that now she wants to know ABOUT THE PATIENTS WHO DIED. Although I am still uncomfortable discussing this subject matter with her, I try, quite awkwardly, to present her with what I do and do not know of death. So Sunday night, instead of patients, I talked her though the events of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. I emphasized that "some people" believe we continue living after we die, but shared that I personally wasn't sure what happened after death. She was silent for a few minutes, then asked (and I swear I did not see this coming) HOW DID THEY KILL HIM?
Even though it has been thirteen years since I practiced Catholicism, I'm not so far removed so as to not realize that, in the grand pantheon of Christian iconography, the image Jesus's crucifixion is arguably the most important, but in the small narrative I'd cobbled together for my daughter, with its borrowed bits from Christianity, pagan naturalism, and my own personal ethos work hard, play hard, and be nice to people, it was difficult to find a place for that particular bit of information. I said I wasn't sure. And she totally, 100%, in no uncertain terms, did not believe me.