It’s that time of year – we’ve begun discussing All Saints costumes. It’s simultaneously raising and lowering my stress level because, 1. We will now have Lucy’s birthday, All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints and All Souls in succession forever and ever, amen, and this mom needs a game plan so help me, Jesus! and 2. Is it that time again? When will I find the time to do what needs to be done let alone make friends with the sewing machine again? Wah!  There’s a lot of emotions tied up in this . . .

Anyway, I’ll leave you in suspense of the decisions that have been made except in Gemma’s case.  Lord love her, while everyone else has been hauling out books to research and googling images of their favorite saints, I don’t think Gemma really understands what’s happening.  At least I didn’t think she did.  Then Friday afternoon as everyone was LOUDLY discussing decisions and costumes, Gemma said in a little voice to no one in particular, “Yeah, and I’m gonna be an angel.”

You’re gonna be an ANGEL?” I clarified over the din. A few siblings snickered.

“Mm-hmmm.” she nodded. “I hungwy.  Who’s my Ramen?”

This morning it was my job to get her still damp self (“I’m done with that towel!” followed by, “Mama, I need clothes!  I fweezing!!”) into tights and a sweater dress.

“So . . . You want to be an angel for All Saints Day?”

She froze with big eyes.  “Yeah!  I will be an angel and fly, fly, fly up to heaven and I will say, ‘Wake up, God!’ and he will say, ‘Oh, hi, Gemma!  I love you! You’re bootiful!’ and I am!”  Her brown eyes were big and earnest and brimming with joy. “And I will have wings.”

Yes, I laughed.  And cried.  And thanked God for her willowy, spirited, ‘bootiful’ self all through mass.

An angel she will be.