My three year old daughter is a Batman nut. She kinda’ thinks she is Batman. Not Batgirl mind you. Batman. Most days, she pretends to be Batman leaping from cushion to cushion saving us all from evil of some sort or another. She has an assortment of Batman shirts she wears when she changes out of her Batman pajamas. When we go to the beach she wears her bathing suit and a batman mask. I’ve got pictures. I’m not proud of that you see, I’m just explaining. When I’m forced to peel her Batman shirt off and wash it she stands in the laundry room waiting. Impatiently.

Well, on Good Friday I suggested she wear a dress to church as we were going to pray for an hour. My three year old at first resisted this idea. And by resisted I mean she ran upstairs in an attempt to hide as she does every time she hears the word “dress.” (My efforts to dress her for a birthday tea party at an Aunt’s house are legendary and are still discussed by neighbors, a mailman, and the local branch of the SPCA. I’ll explain that some other time.)

So when I went up the stairs on Good Friday I half expected to find a little girl threatening the life of a stuffed animal if I took one step closer…

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