My daughter, Regan, was two years old when she discovered Beanie Babies and dolls. To my everlasting dismay, she latched onto the goat Beanie Baby and a dollar store Barbie knockoff. Totally ignoring the goat’s given name of Goatee (a perfectly acceptable moniker), she called it “Horny” because she pointed out the animal did have horns. And she called it loudly to anyone who asked. The Barbie was not much better and I admit, this was my fault. You see, this doll had the peculiar talent of losing body parts and her clothes. I found her arm in Regan’s lunch sandwich as if it was waving during a beauty pageant. One day, it lost its head—literally. We never found it but Regan refused to part with it. So I called it Anne Boleyn after Henry VIII’s second wife. Regan heard it and the doll, like a Hollywood celebrity, changed its’ name from Barbie Knockoff to Anne Boleyn.
I write all this as a backstory because a good humiliating story about Christy’s life needs a bit of history.
Picture this: During Mass, officiated by a visiting priest, one Sunday morning, my then four year old son, Wesley, and Regan started bickering. And it was not a quiet argument. The crux of the battle was whether or not Regan pulled off Anne Boleyn’s clothes and hid them in the missalette. Anne was always an free thinker. Fortunately, I was able to distract them with a bag of fossilized Cheerios found in my purse.
After Mass, I again made the mortifying decision to go out the front doors carrying a sleeping four year old boy and towing an overly animated two year old girl who refused to take her usual nap during the homily. Regan made a beeline to the priest. Below is the gist of the story:
Visiting Priest (VP): Oh hello! My, aren’t you a sweet one. (He bends over to smile at Regan)
Regan: Look! (She holds up her goat and naked Anne Boleyn) This is Horny the Goat (she waves the goat in the priest’s face) And this is Anne Boleyn. (In the other hand was the attired challenged doll).
VP (kudos to him because his smile only faltered a second): Okay. Well thanks for coming to Mass. (He seems eager to get rid of us because he realized the Breedloves were the real life Addams Family)
Regan (who is not to be deterred from giving a detailed account of her toys’ lives) Tell Anne Boleyn and Horny the Goat bye. They are best friends!
I am not sure but I think the visiting priest went into cardiac arrest and possibly made the decision to become a cloistered monk to get away from my children.
PS We never did find Anne Boleyn's clothes.