Having young children is a wonderful blessing. They bring so much laughter and joy. And they are freaking exhausting!! This past Sunday, I had the "honor" of taking my children to mass without my husband. It's not like he planned to skip the Sunday morning festivities. Unfortunately, E woke up with a stomach bug and there was no chance he was going to make it to mass that morning. I got P and C loaded into the car and we walked into the church for 9:30 mass at about 9:20. Not bad, right? A whole 10 minutes early with a toddler and preschooler!
Now my in-laws live in the area and often attend the same Church that we attend. So right before I left the house, my husband told me that his mother had been hinting at wanting to sit with us for mass. My husband's parents are not bad people... but they are two of the most perplexing individuals I have ever met. I truly believe they mean well. So when I got to the church, I scanned the sanctuary to see if they were there. Nope- no sign of them. So I grabbed a pew near the side entrance, close to the bathrooms and the cry-room, just in case. I was sitting near the end of the pew, prime territory for parents with really young babies, but trying to save a little extra room should my in-laws show up and want to sit with us. A video about faithful citizenship was being projected and then a family went up to the ambo to lead us all in a decade of the rosary as part of 40 days for life. And I have to admit, I had a kind of proud mama moment when P was just squealing with delight over getting to say so many Hail Mary's. C was in full-blown wiggle so I was distracted with her and didn't realized that another family had sat down in the pew next to us. So much for the extra seats I was trying to save. Oh well, we only had 2 minutes til mass. I was trying to get C to calm down and stop grabbing at my neckline and yanking downward when I realized P was very much invading the space of the youngest daughter sitting next to him. He was trying to be friendly but she's old enough to get the "why is this weird kid calling me 'Allison'?" look all over her face. So I tried to wrangle P to sit on the other side of me, C slipped into a stand between my legs and now P, arms out and back arched as if he's being crucified, started SCREAMING "I can't see Desus! I can't see Desus!" So back to his original seat next to the other girl he went. Just as I get him calmly back into his seat, I see my in-laws arrive. They walked from one side entrance, across the church until they were standing next to our side exit only about a pew behind us. If they were the type to accept holding a grandkid on their lap for the whole of mass, there would have been room for all of us. The other family might have even scooted down one more seat and P could have had his own seat, too. But that's not how they roll. So they went and sat in a pew about 4 or 5 rows behind us. I'd like to believe they just didn't see us, but with P turned around in his seat, waving frantically, and hollering "Hi Nana! Hi Granpa!" I doubt they missed it.
Finally, it was time to stand, and joy of joys, it's the pastor. Crap! It's not that the pastor is a bad man. I've never actually had words with the man. Just, from everything I've seen, he likes to talk a lot and he likes to do things his own way. I'm not the militant type, but I really do like a pure liturgy. The entrance hymn was finally here and I was already worn out. So we stood, the kids squabbled over holding books and turning pages. Then the pastor started his first homily of the mass. 10 minutes later, we "began" with the Sign of the Cross. The kids were starting to be good again. P loved singing along with the Kyrie and C just can't help but dance through the Gloria. This would be the end of the sweetness for the mass.
P no longer wanted to do as the Romans do (Roman Catholics, that is, ah-ha!); if we were standing, he insisted on sitting or vice versa. We sat for the readings. Well, first we had to hear the pastor's second homily and then we got to the first reading. C was not happy that the music was over and screamed "No, No, NO!" I let her stand and flip pages in the hymnal. Now that I had that situation under control, I looked over at P who was removing his finger from his nose and reaching out to touch the little girl next to him. EW!!! I quickly grabbed a wipe from my purse, wiped of P's hands, and prayed he had never actually made contact with the little girl, who, by the way, is almost sitting on her older sister's lap trying to avoid P. I turned back to my daughter and saw that she was investigating all of my id cards, credit/debit cards, insurance cards, all over the floor. I gathered them back into my purse, fished the tic-tac out of C's mouth that she had found on the floor, sat her on my lap and tried to calm her down again. P had started trying to chat up the little girl again. Time for the psalm. Blessedly, the kids will relax a little for the music. The psalm ended and P started begging for hugs and kisses despite C's clear objection to being part of the love-fest. The pastor gave his 3rd homily and P starts announcing that he wants to go to the bathroom. I had taken him right before we left the house so I was really sure this was a request from boredom. I convinced him to wait for a while. Time for the Gospel. Given C's strong preference for us to be standing, I was up at the first chord, loooong before anybody else was even leaning forward in their seat. And P insisted on sitting. When sitting got to be too passe, he started lying across the pew. I'm all for trying to pick my battles. I figured as long as he was sticking to our 3 seats, I could deal with his reclined posture. But since he'd probably already snotted on the kid next us, I really wanted him to keep his feet off of her seat. That was an uphill battle! Time to sit for the real homily.
By the way, there was a guy sitting a couple rows behind us who obviously thought the pastor was hilarious. He was cackling for all he's worth every time the priest said something. And since the priest had already done a LOT of talking, there had been a lot of cackle! He started his homily by telling the newly installed acolyte/seminarians that "what happens at [our parish] stays at [our parish]" and how their homiletics class will teach them that they should stick to one point in a homily. If they can't make that point in 3 minutes or less, then they don't have a point. The pastor proudly admitted he saw no point in that, so off he launched into a 30 minute homily to the cackles of the dude behind us. Apparently it was a real riot. There were lots of eruptions into laughter but I was a bit busy trying to alternate my attention between my nose-picking son and my bottom-feeding daughter. The homily ended with C on my lap and P had been quietly sitting for about a minute. Time for the creed. I stood holding C on my left hip with P to my right. We got to the second stanza of the creed and P starts yanking on C's leg behind me, exclaiming "She's stuck!" and now C is wailing! Somehow, when she was on my lap during the homily, her foot got stuck in the book holder between the seats and when we stood up, we took it with us. Great, we were dismantling furniture! I removed the book holder from her foot, thanked P for his diligence and calmed down C. Now, I have a degree in mechanical engineering. But for the life of me, I could not get that dang book holder back in its place. I resigned to put it down in front of the kneeler next to me and decided I'd work on it later. I tried to recompose myself, C still on my hip when I started feeling bit of a draft. C had pulled the neckline of my shirt down pretty much completely exposing my left boob! Lovely. And because this was a mass of trials and tribulations, we had two collections. By the grace of God, neither kid tried to grab hold of the collection baskets. And as the collection started, the pastor gave his fifth homily.
Finally we arrived at the consecration. Holy, Holy, Holy, we were on our knees and P remembered that he needed to pee. NOW! He barreled over the backs of my legs and raced out the door with me in a stumbling hot pursuit. I got to him just as he was pushing open the door to the men's room, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back out into the hall and then herded that cat into the women's bathroom. Miraculously, I balance C and my prego self while helping to hoist P onto the toilet. As I turn to put my purse on the hook and P kicked off his shoes, undies and shorts. Try as I might to pick up the shoes and clothes, P got down in record speed and started in for a landing on the floor to put on his undies. I got him just before his rear hit the floor. Somehow, I got him dressed again, the toilet flushed and our hands washed. We returned to the pew just after the Lamb of God. At this point, we were all just exhausted and ready to throw in the towel! I was debating if we would do the "dine and dash" right after communion, so I decided to take one more crack at that book holder. As the nice man behind us tried to help me, P was so enthralled with the process that he figured out how to remove the book holder from the next two seats! More destruction and pleading for "hup me" and "fix it!" At that moment, it was time to go get Jesus and I fervently prayed that since I couldn't carry 3 kids at once, could God please keep P from goosing anybody today? (Last Sunday, at my parent's parish, P decided to reach between the legs of a grumpy old man and pinch just left of center as we were in line to communion. That was humiliating!) We got back to the pew and the mere sight of it sent C into hysterics! P started racing for the door exclaiming "all done!" I pulled him back into the pew, seated him in what had been my seat while I stood with C in the side aisle out of traffic. The cantor finished his "solo act," the "audience" gives a standing-o and we stood for the post-communion prayer/blessing. I thought I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and then the pastor asked us all to be seated for some announcements.
Homily #6!!!! This time, it was complete with props, disrobing and iPhone apps. The priest wanted to "neurolize" the parish so they would donate to a breast cancer fundraiser and really, wasn't he dashing looking like a "Man in Black?" He made a pitch for getting divorcees to seek annulments and for those who had been impacted by abortion, to check out Project Rachel. I'm all for these things, don't get me wrong. But at this point I was reminded of this scene from Simon Birch. And really, I just wanted to leave! We stood for the final blessing, the most sacred words of the mass were said, "The Mass is ended" and I reached down to pick up the book holders. The guy behind us said "don't worry about it, I'll fix it." "God bless you and Thank you!" and I bolted. Just as I was leaving, I saw my father-in-law standing outside the exit scowling as I drove off.
I got home and after E was capable of coming downstairs, he asked how was mass. "Hell!" I cried tears of exhaustion and he reassured me he would handle talking to his parents. E was well enough to go to mass that evening. He was out the door for all of 5 minutes when the GI bug hit me.
I realize there were probably plenty of choices I could have made along the way to make for a less humiliating experience, but I'm also convinced that we all still received the graces we needed. Maybe this is an extreme view, but I have long been convinced that Satan takes great delight in the struggles of young families to have a peaceful experience going to mass. And if you think about it, young families need all the grace and help they can get. It's exhausting parenting young children. But there is grace in the trying and the enduring. I'm not saying I felt all that grace in the moment! Oh boy, not by a long shot! But I'm banking on it! And I sincerely hope that when I get past this phase in the life of our family, I will be the "nice lady" sitting in the pew behind who smiles, helps pick up the chucked toys or books or just makes the parent feel like they aren't being judged for their kid's behavior. Really, we all need the grace!
Now my in-laws live in the area and often attend the same Church that we attend. So right before I left the house, my husband told me that his mother had been hinting at wanting to sit with us for mass. My husband's parents are not bad people... but they are two of the most perplexing individuals I have ever met. I truly believe they mean well. So when I got to the church, I scanned the sanctuary to see if they were there. Nope- no sign of them. So I grabbed a pew near the side entrance, close to the bathrooms and the cry-room, just in case. I was sitting near the end of the pew, prime territory for parents with really young babies, but trying to save a little extra room should my in-laws show up and want to sit with us. A video about faithful citizenship was being projected and then a family went up to the ambo to lead us all in a decade of the rosary as part of 40 days for life. And I have to admit, I had a kind of proud mama moment when P was just squealing with delight over getting to say so many Hail Mary's. C was in full-blown wiggle so I was distracted with her and didn't realized that another family had sat down in the pew next to us. So much for the extra seats I was trying to save. Oh well, we only had 2 minutes til mass. I was trying to get C to calm down and stop grabbing at my neckline and yanking downward when I realized P was very much invading the space of the youngest daughter sitting next to him. He was trying to be friendly but she's old enough to get the "why is this weird kid calling me 'Allison'?" look all over her face. So I tried to wrangle P to sit on the other side of me, C slipped into a stand between my legs and now P, arms out and back arched as if he's being crucified, started SCREAMING "I can't see Desus! I can't see Desus!" So back to his original seat next to the other girl he went. Just as I get him calmly back into his seat, I see my in-laws arrive. They walked from one side entrance, across the church until they were standing next to our side exit only about a pew behind us. If they were the type to accept holding a grandkid on their lap for the whole of mass, there would have been room for all of us. The other family might have even scooted down one more seat and P could have had his own seat, too. But that's not how they roll. So they went and sat in a pew about 4 or 5 rows behind us. I'd like to believe they just didn't see us, but with P turned around in his seat, waving frantically, and hollering "Hi Nana! Hi Granpa!" I doubt they missed it.
Finally, it was time to stand, and joy of joys, it's the pastor. Crap! It's not that the pastor is a bad man. I've never actually had words with the man. Just, from everything I've seen, he likes to talk a lot and he likes to do things his own way. I'm not the militant type, but I really do like a pure liturgy. The entrance hymn was finally here and I was already worn out. So we stood, the kids squabbled over holding books and turning pages. Then the pastor started his first homily of the mass. 10 minutes later, we "began" with the Sign of the Cross. The kids were starting to be good again. P loved singing along with the Kyrie and C just can't help but dance through the Gloria. This would be the end of the sweetness for the mass.
P no longer wanted to do as the Romans do (Roman Catholics, that is, ah-ha!); if we were standing, he insisted on sitting or vice versa. We sat for the readings. Well, first we had to hear the pastor's second homily and then we got to the first reading. C was not happy that the music was over and screamed "No, No, NO!" I let her stand and flip pages in the hymnal. Now that I had that situation under control, I looked over at P who was removing his finger from his nose and reaching out to touch the little girl next to him. EW!!! I quickly grabbed a wipe from my purse, wiped of P's hands, and prayed he had never actually made contact with the little girl, who, by the way, is almost sitting on her older sister's lap trying to avoid P. I turned back to my daughter and saw that she was investigating all of my id cards, credit/debit cards, insurance cards, all over the floor. I gathered them back into my purse, fished the tic-tac out of C's mouth that she had found on the floor, sat her on my lap and tried to calm her down again. P had started trying to chat up the little girl again. Time for the psalm. Blessedly, the kids will relax a little for the music. The psalm ended and P started begging for hugs and kisses despite C's clear objection to being part of the love-fest. The pastor gave his 3rd homily and P starts announcing that he wants to go to the bathroom. I had taken him right before we left the house so I was really sure this was a request from boredom. I convinced him to wait for a while. Time for the Gospel. Given C's strong preference for us to be standing, I was up at the first chord, loooong before anybody else was even leaning forward in their seat. And P insisted on sitting. When sitting got to be too passe, he started lying across the pew. I'm all for trying to pick my battles. I figured as long as he was sticking to our 3 seats, I could deal with his reclined posture. But since he'd probably already snotted on the kid next us, I really wanted him to keep his feet off of her seat. That was an uphill battle! Time to sit for the real homily.
By the way, there was a guy sitting a couple rows behind us who obviously thought the pastor was hilarious. He was cackling for all he's worth every time the priest said something. And since the priest had already done a LOT of talking, there had been a lot of cackle! He started his homily by telling the newly installed acolyte/seminarians that "what happens at [our parish] stays at [our parish]" and how their homiletics class will teach them that they should stick to one point in a homily. If they can't make that point in 3 minutes or less, then they don't have a point. The pastor proudly admitted he saw no point in that, so off he launched into a 30 minute homily to the cackles of the dude behind us. Apparently it was a real riot. There were lots of eruptions into laughter but I was a bit busy trying to alternate my attention between my nose-picking son and my bottom-feeding daughter. The homily ended with C on my lap and P had been quietly sitting for about a minute. Time for the creed. I stood holding C on my left hip with P to my right. We got to the second stanza of the creed and P starts yanking on C's leg behind me, exclaiming "She's stuck!" and now C is wailing! Somehow, when she was on my lap during the homily, her foot got stuck in the book holder between the seats and when we stood up, we took it with us. Great, we were dismantling furniture! I removed the book holder from her foot, thanked P for his diligence and calmed down C. Now, I have a degree in mechanical engineering. But for the life of me, I could not get that dang book holder back in its place. I resigned to put it down in front of the kneeler next to me and decided I'd work on it later. I tried to recompose myself, C still on my hip when I started feeling bit of a draft. C had pulled the neckline of my shirt down pretty much completely exposing my left boob! Lovely. And because this was a mass of trials and tribulations, we had two collections. By the grace of God, neither kid tried to grab hold of the collection baskets. And as the collection started, the pastor gave his fifth homily.
Finally we arrived at the consecration. Holy, Holy, Holy, we were on our knees and P remembered that he needed to pee. NOW! He barreled over the backs of my legs and raced out the door with me in a stumbling hot pursuit. I got to him just as he was pushing open the door to the men's room, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back out into the hall and then herded that cat into the women's bathroom. Miraculously, I balance C and my prego self while helping to hoist P onto the toilet. As I turn to put my purse on the hook and P kicked off his shoes, undies and shorts. Try as I might to pick up the shoes and clothes, P got down in record speed and started in for a landing on the floor to put on his undies. I got him just before his rear hit the floor. Somehow, I got him dressed again, the toilet flushed and our hands washed. We returned to the pew just after the Lamb of God. At this point, we were all just exhausted and ready to throw in the towel! I was debating if we would do the "dine and dash" right after communion, so I decided to take one more crack at that book holder. As the nice man behind us tried to help me, P was so enthralled with the process that he figured out how to remove the book holder from the next two seats! More destruction and pleading for "hup me" and "fix it!" At that moment, it was time to go get Jesus and I fervently prayed that since I couldn't carry 3 kids at once, could God please keep P from goosing anybody today? (Last Sunday, at my parent's parish, P decided to reach between the legs of a grumpy old man and pinch just left of center as we were in line to communion. That was humiliating!) We got back to the pew and the mere sight of it sent C into hysterics! P started racing for the door exclaiming "all done!" I pulled him back into the pew, seated him in what had been my seat while I stood with C in the side aisle out of traffic. The cantor finished his "solo act," the "audience" gives a standing-o and we stood for the post-communion prayer/blessing. I thought I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and then the pastor asked us all to be seated for some announcements.
Homily #6!!!! This time, it was complete with props, disrobing and iPhone apps. The priest wanted to "neurolize" the parish so they would donate to a breast cancer fundraiser and really, wasn't he dashing looking like a "Man in Black?" He made a pitch for getting divorcees to seek annulments and for those who had been impacted by abortion, to check out Project Rachel. I'm all for these things, don't get me wrong. But at this point I was reminded of this scene from Simon Birch. And really, I just wanted to leave! We stood for the final blessing, the most sacred words of the mass were said, "The Mass is ended" and I reached down to pick up the book holders. The guy behind us said "don't worry about it, I'll fix it." "God bless you and Thank you!" and I bolted. Just as I was leaving, I saw my father-in-law standing outside the exit scowling as I drove off.
I got home and after E was capable of coming downstairs, he asked how was mass. "Hell!" I cried tears of exhaustion and he reassured me he would handle talking to his parents. E was well enough to go to mass that evening. He was out the door for all of 5 minutes when the GI bug hit me.
I realize there were probably plenty of choices I could have made along the way to make for a less humiliating experience, but I'm also convinced that we all still received the graces we needed. Maybe this is an extreme view, but I have long been convinced that Satan takes great delight in the struggles of young families to have a peaceful experience going to mass. And if you think about it, young families need all the grace and help they can get. It's exhausting parenting young children. But there is grace in the trying and the enduring. I'm not saying I felt all that grace in the moment! Oh boy, not by a long shot! But I'm banking on it! And I sincerely hope that when I get past this phase in the life of our family, I will be the "nice lady" sitting in the pew behind who smiles, helps pick up the chucked toys or books or just makes the parent feel like they aren't being judged for their kid's behavior. Really, we all need the grace!