This morning, as my beautiful and sexy wife and I were lazing in bed, avoiding getting up and starting the day, our two wild beasts, by which I mean “children,” climbed (inevitably) into bed with us and started acting rambunctiously. I called them the beasts that they are, which my five-year-old son thought was hilarious, and so he proceeded to describe himself, dramatically, as a beast.
“I’m bigger than a house!” he growled, “Bigger than a temple!”
I tensed immediately and sat up. Where did that come from? I asked curtly, “What do you mean, a temple?”
“You know,” he replied “like the temple of Zeus and Hera.”
I smiled and relaxed and settled back down into my pillow. Mission accomplished.
Sailing to Byzantium 
I wonder what raising my children with my gods is going to be like, and it’s moments like that that I hope for.
My kids appear to believe in Jesus, God and the Olympians pretty seamlessly.
The other day when my beautiful and sexy wife was taking the kids ot the beach, my son prayed to Zeus that the weather would be nice. And then, because he and his little sister were irrationally (and out of nowhere) terrified that there would be crabs at the beach, he prayed to Poseidon that there would be no crabs.
I love that their approach is so innocent, but I do really worry that they’re going to get smacked down hard someday in Sunday School or by their public school classmates.