At Wal-Mart, it was the day of Buying A Lot of Stuff. One woman slid a case of red pepper sauce right off the shelf into her cart. As we were driving in, another woman was supervising workers who were stuffing huge plastic bags full of plastic pumpkin-shaped trick-or-treat baskets into the back of her station wagon – I assumed she was picking them up for a school or charity drive or some such.
But the sight of the dozens of pumpkin baskets being claimed by one person clearly bothered Little Michael. He kept mentioning it while we shopped and at one point burst out with, “I think that was a bad woman.” I kept telling him I’m sure there were some left in the store, but the simple task of providing proof was denied us because Michael, torn between his newfound terror of Halloween displays and his concern about the baskets, ultimately let the former win out.
And now, haunted by nightmares of pumpkin-hoarding Alabama women, he naps.
But not before engaging me in some theological conversation on the way to pick up Joseph from school.
“Did God make us?”
(I think how to answer, but before I can…)
“Does he put us on a piece of paper and then make us?”
“Well, no..he spoke…”
“Smoke? He make us from smoke?”
“No – no (let’s try this again) – he makes us through our mommies and daddies.”
“Um…he just does.”
Well. He does.