  Tuesday afternoon brought the adventure of taking S. to her dance class. This is the third week of class; the first week Mom was able to take S. and during the second weeek, Dad forgot to take S. to class. The class is sponsored through the local YMCA, but is held at a synagogue in town. Parents and other siblings are not allowed to stay in the classroom while the class is held, but are afforded the comfort of waiting in another area where there are toys and other diversions. Having forgotten to take S. for the previous class warranted a thorough and in-depth briefing by Mom covering as many particulars as she could as well as an admonishment not to be late.
The girls and I arrived early and we were the first ones there. This made it easy to meet the instructor, apologize for the missed class and getting S. settled, but left K. and I wandering the synagogue in seach of the waiting room. Having apparently taken a wrong turn, K. and I ended up in the sanctuary portion of the synagogue. Although not yet three years old, K. recognized the space as a place of worship and inquisitively asked, "Where's baby Jesus? " As we quickly pirouetted with my hope of finding and following a parent in the know, I replied, "Well, baby Jesus isn't here but his Dad is. " Happily, K. was content with that response as we found the waiting room and retreated into the innocence of play time. 
