Today, we took down Christmas. Yes, I know it is more traditional to wait for Three King's Day, but I couldn't stand to have that tree in the house one more day. While Ryan was stripping the tree of lights, I took down the nativity. It was then I noticed there was something very wrong in the town of Bethlehem.
For those of you who failed the Highlights "hidden pictures" contests as children, in addition to the Holy Family, wise men, and shepherds, there are two monkeys, an abnormally large bat, a turtle, and Bigfoot. Yes, that's right, according to my manger, Bigfoot was at the birth of Christ.
First, I assumed Ryan had done it, moving things around from the mantle to create the David Lynch Christmas scene. Then a dark horse in the blasphemy race emerged: my Mother.
I called to ask her about it, expecting her to be insulted and ask me to do hail Marys in order to win her forgiveness. Instead, she laughingly admitted it. Yes, the woman who goes to church every week, doesn't eat meat during Lent, and could teach most Catholics a thing or two about guilt, was responsible for the desecration. And she was proud of it. She thought the Bigfoot was an especially brilliant touch, such people had been putting another mythical creature (Santa) at the creche for some time.
I guess you don't really know a person until you leave them along with your plastic Jesus. I am just so glad I don't have a Crucifixion set she can mess with at Easter. Because that would be REALLY disrespectful.