Black outs and Baby Jebus

I am sitting post blackout. We had another stirling electrical storm with thunder and lightening just overhead. The kids were in the pool, with me supervising the weather. Rain - cool. Thunder - cool. Lightening - not so cool. Time to get out. I'm a good mum like that. Always have the kiddies best interests at heart.

So with a power outage due to the storm we set about getting candles ready in case of a long haul. Also sorted out a bbq dinner. Then the kids wanted activities. The candle lighting gave Missy an idea. "Can we do a ceremony for Jesus?"

Hmmm.

Now, I don't class myself as an atheist, although many seem intent of whacking me in a box of some sort, but I don't believe in a God. I do, however, respect any one else's belief system whatever it may be. I also have enough respect in their beliefs to add an initial capital to the name God. See, very accommodating.

The subject matter comes up from time to time in the house as the kids pick up stories and ideas from their friends at school, and especially around this time of year. I tend to tell them what the mainstream story is surrounding what they have heard, throw in a couple of alternatives that others might believe, and ask them their thoughts on the matter. We have always been open with them that dad is a 'pro' (sorry, but always gives me a chuckle) and mum goes for the negative.

The kids themselves aren't hugely fussed either way at present. They are just wee sponges that suck up info, regardless of the topic matter. I don't really think any of them are of an age to make up their mind as to what side of the fence, or even which fence they sit on. It's all just information.

They all have the choice at school as to whether they will participate in "Scripture" classes, and which denomination they prefer. At present the younger two, 6 and 7, have chosen Non-scripture. Our eldest picked Catholic for the tail end of the year, after the first two terms of Non-scripture resulted in extra maths work. Not cool teachers. Talk about subtly determining their choices.

Arse-end result of this natter is that Missy, 6, asked if they could draw pictures of baby Jesus to hang in the house. Liberal ole Me figured that this was okay if that's what they wanted and I now have multiple pictures that resemble a cocoon with a human head poking out hanging from my ceiling. Because they need to twirl apparently. As do many of us.