It's Sunday. I have nothing new. So here's an old favorite.
We went to the Last Chance Mass on Sunday – 6pm. For us Catholics, keeping the Sabbath holy means getting to mass on Sunday. (We also strive to rest, meditate, do good deeds, spend time with family . . . but most importantly – get your ass to mass!)
Because it was the Last Chance Mass, it was also the “Come as You Are” Mass. In other words – jeans are fine. Just wipe the peanut butter off the kids and strap them in the car seat because we gotta go.
Please know: this is not a complaint. I love going to mass. I love it. I love the fellowship, I love the mystery, the prayer . . . I love spending time with my Jesus surrounded by my family. I am a Catholic by birth, yes. More importantly, I am a Catholic by choice.
One of the things I LOVE about my tribe is that we have so many opportunities to get to mass. You can go late Saturday, early Sunday, not-so-early Sunday, noon Sunday, or Late Sunday. This week, we chose late Sunday.
Because our kiddos are little, we generally split our masses. Greg likes going late Sunday, I like going Sunday morning. That way we don’t always have to take the 5 year old & 2 year old. To kids that age, a 45 minute mass is eternity. If a certain priest is giving the homily, make that eternity plus 15 minutes. (Sorry Father, but it’s the truth.)
This week, we didn’t divide and conquer. We took everybody.
When we take whole family, my husband goes into the pew first. The 8 year old is next. Then the 5 year old, me & the 2 year old bring up the rear. We kneel and say a pre-mass prayer. At this point the 5 year old – who will never admit to being tired under any other circumstance – is suddenly exhausted. He immediately lies down on my lap. The 8 year old will decide that sitting upright is too much of an effort, so he leans against my other side. The 2 year old then proceeds to climb me like a jungle gym. Meanwhile, my husband is sitting a little apart, comfortably listening to the readings.
When it’s time to stand, I pick up 2 year old and nudge the older boys reluctantly to their feet. Then 2 year old decides he’s had enough and shimmies down. As soon as his feet touch the terrazzo floor, he begins to climb again. And on we go.
We’re not unique – look around and every family with small children is doing some variation of the same dance.
This Sunday, there was a new twist to the mass dance.
As 5 year old leaned and 2 year old climbed, my jeans started to scoot south. I hitched them up as best as I could, retrieved 2 year old from his 10 seconds on the floor and tried to listen to the gospel. Bored with his 20 seconds in my arms, 2 year old climbed down again. And took my jeans with him.
My 2 year old literally pulled my pants off during mass.
That means that half the church plus the choir loft saw my blue-polka-dot-boy-shorts from Lane Bryant.
Thank GOD I didn’t wear a thong.
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Giving Tree
Fair warning -- this post is going to be sappy as hell. Sentimental. Cloying.
I am in that kind of mood.
When I went to mass this morning, I was so grateful to Greg for staying home with the boys so I could go to mass on my own. No one pulled off my pants, stuck their hands down my blouse or repeated "Look Mama! It's Father Roger!" all through mass.
The mass was beautiful. I love the advent colors -- purple with gold. I love the candles, I love the symbolism, I love the prayers. Mostly, I love the people at Mass.
The Giving Tree was up -- this is our way to provide The Ark with gifts and needed items for the year. We select an ornament off the tree. The ornament has a child's age and gender on it, with an item that needs to be purchased. These kids need toys, but more than that, they need toiletries, clothes, medicine. What they really need is a safe and loving home, but unfortunately, the Giving Tree isn't much help there.
The Ark is an emergency shelter for kids who have to be removed from their homes. Usually, they have to be removed because of violence, neglect and abuse. Frequently children are removed in the dead of night, when drinking and drugs bring out the worst in those who are supposed to protect them. These kiddos come from all ages, races, religions and income levels. Most of them come from poverty -- if only because the poor have fewer mechanisms to control the damage done by the violence.
As soon as mass was over, families descended upon the tree -- taking one, two or three ornaments. People where waiting four and five deep. I know many of the families clamoring for the ornaments. When you know people, you learn their struggles. I saw people who suffered layoffs this year. People who have suffered miscarriages and other medical emergencies. People who have several small children at home. People who are caring for terminally ill parents. I saw people who struggle with addictions of their own. I saw single parent families and even a family that lost a child. Struggling families who couldn't wait to help the kids at The Ark.
We're going to do what we can too. We'll give. It will be nothing compared to what we have received. I am grateful for the chance to attend mass on my own. More than that, I am grateful for the chance to be a part of this Parish family.
I am in that kind of mood.
When I went to mass this morning, I was so grateful to Greg for staying home with the boys so I could go to mass on my own. No one pulled off my pants, stuck their hands down my blouse or repeated "Look Mama! It's Father Roger!" all through mass.
The mass was beautiful. I love the advent colors -- purple with gold. I love the candles, I love the symbolism, I love the prayers. Mostly, I love the people at Mass.
The Giving Tree was up -- this is our way to provide The Ark with gifts and needed items for the year. We select an ornament off the tree. The ornament has a child's age and gender on it, with an item that needs to be purchased. These kids need toys, but more than that, they need toiletries, clothes, medicine. What they really need is a safe and loving home, but unfortunately, the Giving Tree isn't much help there.
The Ark is an emergency shelter for kids who have to be removed from their homes. Usually, they have to be removed because of violence, neglect and abuse. Frequently children are removed in the dead of night, when drinking and drugs bring out the worst in those who are supposed to protect them. These kiddos come from all ages, races, religions and income levels. Most of them come from poverty -- if only because the poor have fewer mechanisms to control the damage done by the violence.
As soon as mass was over, families descended upon the tree -- taking one, two or three ornaments. People where waiting four and five deep. I know many of the families clamoring for the ornaments. When you know people, you learn their struggles. I saw people who suffered layoffs this year. People who have suffered miscarriages and other medical emergencies. People who have several small children at home. People who are caring for terminally ill parents. I saw people who struggle with addictions of their own. I saw single parent families and even a family that lost a child. Struggling families who couldn't wait to help the kids at The Ark.
We're going to do what we can too. We'll give. It will be nothing compared to what we have received. I am grateful for the chance to attend mass on my own. More than that, I am grateful for the chance to be a part of this Parish family.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Doing it all. . .
Are you impressed with me that I an a mother of three, work a full time job, blog, go to graduate school, blog, workout regularly, blog, and volunteer at my church?
Don't be.
Because there is no way I could do it without my husband.
Husbands are funny. Wives like to get together and roll our eyes over the silly things they do. Like teach our children to burp their ABCs. At least they know their ABC's right?
My husband works two jobs -- three if you count the "architect-on-loan" deal he is doing right now. My husband works most of the weekend, because architects are all about deadlines. And budgets, which is why he doesn't bill most of his weekend work.
My husband does the dishes every night. We don't own a dishwasher, and he can't stand to see dirty dishes left over night (I can), so he does them.
My husband really likes our kids. I like 'em too, but Greg thinks playing with them is the funnest thing since skateboarding.
My husband gets that my job is super important to the family because there is less a threat of layoff as with his, and because I carry the insurance. He also gets that I really enjoy it. He supports me going to school because he knows that I need a Masters in order to move ahead.
He supports me volunteering at church. Really, we're both volunteering. I am at the church, he is at home with the boys. Believe me, both are important.
He doesn't read my blog unless I make him. Which is good, because he would be super embarrassed if he knew that I was writing about him.
I just thought you should know.
It's my husband that enables me to do it all. .. .
I don't know how he does it!
Don't be.
Because there is no way I could do it without my husband.
Husbands are funny. Wives like to get together and roll our eyes over the silly things they do. Like teach our children to burp their ABCs. At least they know their ABC's right?
My husband works two jobs -- three if you count the "architect-on-loan" deal he is doing right now. My husband works most of the weekend, because architects are all about deadlines. And budgets, which is why he doesn't bill most of his weekend work.
My husband does the dishes every night. We don't own a dishwasher, and he can't stand to see dirty dishes left over night (I can), so he does them.
My husband really likes our kids. I like 'em too, but Greg thinks playing with them is the funnest thing since skateboarding.
My husband gets that my job is super important to the family because there is less a threat of layoff as with his, and because I carry the insurance. He also gets that I really enjoy it. He supports me going to school because he knows that I need a Masters in order to move ahead.
He supports me volunteering at church. Really, we're both volunteering. I am at the church, he is at home with the boys. Believe me, both are important.
He doesn't read my blog unless I make him. Which is good, because he would be super embarrassed if he knew that I was writing about him.
I just thought you should know.
It's my husband that enables me to do it all. .. .
I don't know how he does it!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Gift of Fat: Empathy
I feel bad when people are hurting.
I think I have empathy because I know what it's like to be teased. To be judged.
One of my friends killed himself last weekend.
I can't imagine what he felt, how he struggled, what was going through his mind. I have no idea.
I have no idea what his family feels right now. All I know is that it's pretty bad.
I know that whatever he was feeling that night, he was struggling to get away from it. His bible was with him, passages were highlighted that give some clue of what he was asking God.
In the end, the depression -- or whatever it was -- won.
Is it empathy to be annoyed with people for saying things like:
"All he had to do was reach out and we could have helped him"
"Why did he do it?"
"Nothing could be that bad."
"He was a Christian, how could he?"
I know we all grieve differently. I know we are all sad -- and mad -- that this happened to our friend.
I just can't help feeling that people are judging him. And it makes me angry. Is that empathy?
KK, I hope you are OK now.
I think I have empathy because I know what it's like to be teased. To be judged.
One of my friends killed himself last weekend.
I can't imagine what he felt, how he struggled, what was going through his mind. I have no idea.
I have no idea what his family feels right now. All I know is that it's pretty bad.
I know that whatever he was feeling that night, he was struggling to get away from it. His bible was with him, passages were highlighted that give some clue of what he was asking God.
In the end, the depression -- or whatever it was -- won.
Is it empathy to be annoyed with people for saying things like:
"All he had to do was reach out and we could have helped him"
"Why did he do it?"
"Nothing could be that bad."
"He was a Christian, how could he?"
I know we all grieve differently. I know we are all sad -- and mad -- that this happened to our friend.
I just can't help feeling that people are judging him. And it makes me angry. Is that empathy?
KK, I hope you are OK now.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Bless Me Father, for I Have Mooned
We went to the Last Chance Mass on Sunday – 6pm. For us Catholics, keeping the Sabbath holy means getting to mass on Sunday. (We also strive to rest, meditate, do good deeds, spend time with family . . . but most importantly – get your ass to mass!)
Because it was the Last Chance Mass, it was also the “Come as You Are” Mass. In other words – jeans are fine. Just wipe the peanut butter off the kids and strap them in the car seat because we gotta go.
Please know: this is not a complaint. I love going to mass. I love it. I love the fellowship, I love the mystery, the prayer . . . I love spending time with my Jesus surrounded by my family. I am a Catholic by birth, yes. More importantly, I am a Catholic by choice.
One of the things I LOVE about my tribe is that we have so many opportunities to get to mass. You can go late Saturday, early Sunday, not-so-early Sunday, noon Sunday, or Late Sunday. This week, we chose late Sunday.
Because our kiddos are little, we generally split our masses. Greg likes going late Sunday, I like going Sunday morning. That way we don’t always have to take the 5 year old & 2 year old. To kids that age, a 45 minute mass is eternity. If a certain priest is giving the homily, make that eternity plus 15 minutes. (Sorry Father, but it’s the truth.)
This week, we didn’t divide and conquer. We took everybody.
When we take whole family, my husband goes into the pew first. The 8 year old is next. Then the 5 year old, me & the 2 year old bring up the rear. We kneel and say a pre-mass prayer. At this point the 5 year old – who will never admit to being tired under any other circumstance – is suddenly exhausted. He immediately lies down on my lap. The 8 year old will decide that sitting upright is too much of an effort, so he leans against my other side. The 2 year old then proceeds to climb me like a jungle gym. Meanwhile, my husband is sitting a little apart, comfortably listening to the readings.
When it’s time to stand, I pick up 2 year old and nudge the older boys reluctantly to their feet. Then 2 year old decides he’s had enough and shimmies down. As soon as his feet touch the terrazzo floor, he begins to climb again. And on we go.
We’re not unique – look around and every family with small children is doing some variation of the same dance.
This Sunday, there was a new twist to the mass dance.
As 5 year old leaned and 2 year old climbed, my jeans started to scoot south. I hitched them up as best as I could, retrieved 2 year old from his 10 seconds on the floor and tried to listen to the gospel. Bored with his 20 seconds in my arms, 2 year old climbed down again. And took my jeans with him.
My 2 year old literally pulled my pants off during mass.
That means that half the church plus the choir loft saw my blue-polka-dot-boy-shorts from Lane Bryant.
Thank GOD I didn’t wear a thong.
Because it was the Last Chance Mass, it was also the “Come as You Are” Mass. In other words – jeans are fine. Just wipe the peanut butter off the kids and strap them in the car seat because we gotta go.
Please know: this is not a complaint. I love going to mass. I love it. I love the fellowship, I love the mystery, the prayer . . . I love spending time with my Jesus surrounded by my family. I am a Catholic by birth, yes. More importantly, I am a Catholic by choice.
One of the things I LOVE about my tribe is that we have so many opportunities to get to mass. You can go late Saturday, early Sunday, not-so-early Sunday, noon Sunday, or Late Sunday. This week, we chose late Sunday.
Because our kiddos are little, we generally split our masses. Greg likes going late Sunday, I like going Sunday morning. That way we don’t always have to take the 5 year old & 2 year old. To kids that age, a 45 minute mass is eternity. If a certain priest is giving the homily, make that eternity plus 15 minutes. (Sorry Father, but it’s the truth.)
This week, we didn’t divide and conquer. We took everybody.
When we take whole family, my husband goes into the pew first. The 8 year old is next. Then the 5 year old, me & the 2 year old bring up the rear. We kneel and say a pre-mass prayer. At this point the 5 year old – who will never admit to being tired under any other circumstance – is suddenly exhausted. He immediately lies down on my lap. The 8 year old will decide that sitting upright is too much of an effort, so he leans against my other side. The 2 year old then proceeds to climb me like a jungle gym. Meanwhile, my husband is sitting a little apart, comfortably listening to the readings.
When it’s time to stand, I pick up 2 year old and nudge the older boys reluctantly to their feet. Then 2 year old decides he’s had enough and shimmies down. As soon as his feet touch the terrazzo floor, he begins to climb again. And on we go.
We’re not unique – look around and every family with small children is doing some variation of the same dance.
This Sunday, there was a new twist to the mass dance.
As 5 year old leaned and 2 year old climbed, my jeans started to scoot south. I hitched them up as best as I could, retrieved 2 year old from his 10 seconds on the floor and tried to listen to the gospel. Bored with his 20 seconds in my arms, 2 year old climbed down again. And took my jeans with him.
My 2 year old literally pulled my pants off during mass.
That means that half the church plus the choir loft saw my blue-polka-dot-boy-shorts from Lane Bryant.
Thank GOD I didn’t wear a thong.
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