Last Sunday, we were late for Mass because I was late getting ready. (Memo to self: Do not hop in the shower at 8:30 when Mass begins at nine!) Yesterday, I got up, fed the kids, cleaned up the kitchen, fed myself and got into the shower by 7:45. I even had the little boys' shirt laid out in their rooms. All anyone over the age of five had to do was get dressed, take care of personal hygiene and pull clothes on George and Cole. Simple, right?
Well, you'd think! Adam and Camille couldn't find the shirts I had put out. Adam swore I grabbed only 3T shirts (Cole's) and tried to put one on George. It was a blue one and since blue is the current color of choice, he was thrilled... until I said there was no way that would fit him! George got mad when I went to his room to show him his options, which boiled down to a polo with a turtle on it or a blue and green striped polo.
Neither of these options met with his approval and after saying multiple times, 'You pick or Mommy picks. Which shirt?" I finally picked for him. (I know! I did what I said I would do! Mean Mommy!) George was pretty upset and I carried him kicking and screaming downstairs, only to find Cole in red, white and blue plaid shorts with a grey shirt with PINK checks on the sleeves and bottom. I just sighed, because there was no time to change.
George screamed and cried the whole five minute ride to Mass. When we got there, Adam took the other three in while I waited out the storm in the car. George was screaming and crying and I was near tears myself. My parish isn't a safe place and I was waiting... just waiting... for a nosey someone to come in and try and take him from me. I was scared and fearful; wanting to go to Mass but not wanting to be around people. Wanting the Eucharist but not wanting ... well, heck, I don't know what I wanted at that point.
Finally, I buckled George into his car seat and drove to Starbucks. It was beginning to get hot and I was afraid he was disturbing Mass with the screaming. (Unlikely, as the church is pretty sound proof and I've never heard noise from the parking lot while inside.) George kept telling me he didn't like coffee, didn't like church, wanted Daddy, etc. I learned that he can get so hysterical he throws up. Wonderful.
I'd like to say there was some deep seated and profound revelation in the drive-thru. I'd love to say that I saw the face of Christ in the caramel drizzle on top or in the snotty, tear stained face of my son. I did muse that the lady on the front of the cup sorta looks like the Blessed Virgin, but that's as close as I got.
When I got back to the church, Mass was almost over and they were setting up for donut sunday. Adam came and got me and encouraged me to attend the 10:30 Mass. I didn't. I couldn't. He said it was a happy Mass with a nice homily. Still couldn't do it.
Because... selfish pride? Tired of spending every Mass crying or near tears? I dunno.
We had a nice chat with the new priest and learned some useless trivia about the Eucharist. (Well, not useless- did you know you can take Communion twice in one day as long as one of them is within the context of a Mass? I didn't. Who knew!) I told Father that his idea of having daily Mass Saturday morning was brilliant- now parents who have kids in public school can attend a daily Mass! Plus, they are now offering more times for Confession, which is great!
I'm sure there is meaning in the day, a day that began with snot and tears and ended with BBQ with the oldest kids, and a successful trip to the thrift store. I finished up a Pinterest project and cleaned up the kitchen. I wish there was a deep seated revelation in the fact that I spent part of the nine o'clock hour in the Starbucks drive-thru rather than in Mass.
Maybe in time there will be.
Right now... nope.
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