We were talking to Stella about Easter. Specifically, what happened during the last week of the Savior’s life. In honor of Palm Sunday, we made a really pathetic looking “palm branch” by tracing her hands on green paper, cutting them out, and taping them to a stick she found outside. She was proud of it anyway and walked around the house cradling it and saying she was going to show Daddy when he came home. Then we watched a video of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, and she rode on her own donkey, I mean dad.
Later, she recounted the story as follows:
S: Jesus rode on a donkey. Into “Jerusadem.”
Me: What did the people shout?
Me: I think you mean, “Hosanna!”
Me: They said, “Hosanna, to the Son of David!”
S: “David! Stop it this instant!”
Me: No, not that David.
On Tuesday, we talked about how Jesus cleansed the temple.
S: Jesus was mad.
S: Because the temple was dirty.
S: Because of the sheep.
Me: What about the sheep?
S: The sheep pooped in the temple.
You can always count on poop to be memorable.
On Thursday, we made unleavened bread. It tasted gross.
Stella loves that song “Gethsemane.” It was probably one of the last songs she was really interested in before she started boycotting singing. Now she refuses to sing on camera or when we’re talking to anyone on the phone. But before she entered this downward spiral, I overheard her singing parts of “Gethsemane” to her stuffed pig. But instead of saying, “Jesus climbed the hill, to the garden still, his steps were heavy and slow….” she said:
“Jesus climbed the hill… [dramatic pause]
to steal cookies!”