It started with Passover.

While we prepped and readied during Holy Week, the kids discussed the food and drink. They planned ahead for whether or not they would be drinking wine or not for the night unlike any other night. And while Gemma was uncertain about what she would do, she opted for a taste that evening. Then, when we returned home to dregs left in the carafe, she asked if she could have it.

“Sleepy time!” I thought! I’m kidding. Or AM I?

Then there was a lovely evening at the lake when I must’ve been drinking because I strapped Penny to me, put Monday on a leash and set out to walk around the lake with 4 of the 7 on foot and slippy, slide-y sandals on 2 of those feet.

I’ll let you guess whose feet they were.

I’ll give you a hint, they weren’t mine.

After having negotiated the footwear choices, we set off. We had not made it past the first corner when Ellie and Gem began to lag behind. I uttered a rather impatient, “Jesus, give me patience!” sort of prayer and waited for them to catch up, sure they would complain of fatigue so early on. Instead I over heard them discussing weddings.

Ellie was giving her sister a lesson on all the things needed for a wedding. 

“It’s not just about a pretty dress, Gemma. If you’re called to marriage, there is A LOT you have to do for a wedding.” 

Gemma challenged this assertion and asked for examples. 

“Well, first you have to make sure you’re old enough, then you have to ask a priest when he’s free so you can choose a date, decide on outfits for other people, buyyyyy food, MAAAKE food, decide on decoraaaaations, write invitaaaaations. . . ”

And then, as Ellie continued to list the rather impressive amount of knowledge about weddings, Gemma started to interject and interrupt.

“And wine. And wine! Aaaaand WINE!” Then,

“No, seriously Ellie, you need A LOT of wine.”

Kudos to Ellie for clarifying that you only needed it if you wanted it. After all, Chelsey and Roman chose not to. . . 

A few weeks later, we visited the Hofer’s for supper and to discuss wedding photograph details. Gemma followed me inside to find a beverage. 

“Well, what is there? What are my choices?”

“There’s water, and lemonade. . . You want some lemonade?”

“Hmmm. . . What are you having?” she wanted to know.

“I’m having wine.”

“Oh! I’ll have that. I’m fine with wine.”

I couldn’t not laugh. I couldn’t. In sure you understand. And no, I did not allow any spirits for the spirited 4-year-old. She’ll have to wait a good many years until she can freely choose the booze for herself.