Candle Love

One of the things our family is going to do this Christmas is make Jesus a birthday cake. Miss Hope and family are all about some Jesus and The Man and I are wanting to stress that the reason for the season is about the birth of Jesus. Since The Man is the baker in the family*, he thought it a good idea to make Jesus a cake and let the kids help him cook and decorate it to enjoy. The kids seem really excited about this and are gung ho about baking Jesus his own cake for his birthday.

Today, The Man, The Boy, and I were at the commissary shopping. We go on base to the commissary about twice a month for what I call "big groceries". Otherwise, I get my milk, bread, and such from W*lmart down the road.

Anyway, we were in the produce and deli section and about to do some serious food gathering. I was over looking at something while The Man was checking the quality of the oranges. I noticed my son a few feet away looking at the turning rack of birthday accessories (i.e. candles, decorations, and etc.).

All of a sudden, I heard his voice ring out across the produce...

"Hey, Dad? How old is Jesus again?"

I turned to my husband and started laughing. Why? I don't know...it's not a question you hear every day, I suppose.

The wheels started turning in my boy's head. He asked when Jesus was born and my husband told him on December 25, 0000 (zero zero zero zero-that's how he told him.)

Now my kid isn't about those number candles. Oh, no. He likes to blow out the individual candles because number candles are a crock.

Those wheels continued to turn. I immediately told him we simply could not do two thousand and ten candles.

We compromised. He picked out two packs and was satisfied.

Remind me to turn the smoke detector off when we light those bad boys, would you?



* I am not a baker. I am a good cook, but I am not a baker. My family will be quick to tell you that Mama can cook, but she can NOT bake. I accept this and let The Man do that job since he's good at it.


** Another side note of useless information. If you want to hear many different languages spoken? Go to a commissary. I find it just ...I don't know....odd....that in a commissary on an American post/base, you will hear many different languages spoken as you push your buggy through the store getting groceries. I know your local W*lmart may have a Hispanic section of food, but if you have a good sized commissary? You'll get all different kinds of ethnic food sections. I've had a right large time trying some random things out of different sections. Many people from different countries are stationed here and there are also spouses from other countries that make up the wild mix cultures that grace the commissary on any given day.