I run my daughter’s bath water as she plays in the living room with the manger set up under the tree. She loves dramatizing the first Christmas. She's always the angel who lets the shepherds know that the baby Jesus will soon be born.

My mother doesn't like this, and tells me so when I come to fetch her granddaughter. One shouldn’t be fiddling around with the story of Christ. She's not sure, but it may be some sort of sacrilege and all sorts of misfortune could come tumbling down upon our ignorant, blasphemous heads. Why tempt fate?

I explain that in the grand scheme of things, pretending to be an angel announcing the world's most famous miracle is hardly the worst one could aspire to.

My mother is quiet for a moment and I wonder if she could be considering my point of view. Instead, she turns to my husband and pursues the subject of my newly golden locks.

"Of course you like it, you're a MAN, after all, but be honest, doesn't make her look just a little . . . cheap?"

"Aw now, you don’t mean that, Mary . . ."

“Mary? Mary, like Jesus’ mother? I never knew that was your name, grandma! You’re just like Jesus’ mamma!” pipes my big-eared little girl.

“Oh no,” sighs the elderly waif. “Hardly. I’m just your mommie’s mommie. That has its rewards, and more than its share of crosses, too.”

What I wouldn’t give to screech out, "Blasphemy! Blasphemy and sacrilege!"

Instead, I take my daughter by the hand and guide her to the full and waiting tub.

She's halfway in, then quickly jumps out, yowling like a scorched cat. “The water is TOO HOT, Mommie! TOO HOT! TOO HOT!”

“Is everything all right in there?” A tiny yet remarkably strong old voice calls from behind the locked door.

“Everything is just fine, Mom. Please go back into the living room and relax.”

“The water is HOT, Grandma!” screeches my child. “It hurts!”

“Why don’t you let me in there and I’ll fix it for you, sweetheart?” croons Grandma.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve got it under control.” I croon back, in a sub-fever level pitch.

I listen as my mother’s Soft Sports beat a retreat on the plush carpet, down the hall and back to the living room. I practically choke in relief.

“The water is too hot, Mommie,” my child reminds me.

"I’ll tell you what. Mommie is going to run some cold water in there for awhile and the you can get in, OK?”

She looks at me with crocodile tear soaked lashes slyly shading the biggest brownest beagle pup eyes.

“OK, Mommie.”

“Why don’t you play with your mermaids until the water is ready?”

She looks at the dolls in my outstretched hand, pauses for a moment, then smiles and shakes her head yes.

As the cold water spills into the tub and my child plays with her mermaids at my feet, I steal a glance into the bathroom mirror. "Oh my God," I think, "I do look cheap. Holy shit. How can that be? What the hell is wrong with me?"

I distract myself with the running water. The cold has been running full blast.

“Try the water now.”

She looks at me with great big doubtful hopeful eyes and tentatively sticks a toe in.

‘It’s too cold now, Mommie.”

I swish my hand around in the water and think a moment.

“It will be okay,” I tell her. "Just get in and swish the water around with your body like Mommie is doing with her hand."

She hesitates, then obeys, one small foot at a time.

“It’s cold on this side and hot on that side."

“Just swish it around.”

The small form submerges into frothy bubbles, sliding her small body back and forth in the tub.

"It’s working! It’s working! I’m making body soup!”

"Body soup," I think. Body Soup.

That is so cool. Oh my God, that is just so cool.