Mass Without Children

Yesterday my man was off from work and decided that he didn't want to go to church with us. I (half) jokingly said, "Well if you don't want to go then your punishment is keeping one or two of the kids with you so I can catch a word or two of the homily for once." To my utter shock he agreed, and on top of that declared that he would keep ALL of them home. Clearly this was his idea of a sick joke and I wasn't falling for it. But as the time creeped closer for us (me?) to leave he never started laughing and pointing or hinting that he'd changed his mind. Finally it was time for me to go and I kissed my sticky kids and hugged my hubby goodbye. I made sure he knew where the shoes were (sadly, he really doesnt know such things), begged that he feed them real food and not junk to buy their cooperation, and aske dnumerous times if he "was sure about this".....and then I peeled out of the driveway leaving a splaying of dust and pebbles without a second glance in the rearview in fear they would chase me down and take away my freedom before it had even started.

I glanced around, almost nervously...it felt forbidden...it felt GOOD! I couldn't think of anything to do so I decided to listen to the radio, but that plan fell through because only one station would come in and it was a vulgar talk show for guys with no hope of getting a woman. I looked to my right and remembered that Sarah had broken the attenna off of my truck. No problem, I'll just listen to my iPod... Good plan until my phone rang. Rick. Wanting to know where I was. Really...? I'm 5 minutes away from home! That's okay, I'll just enjoy the silence. Wow, silence is creepy. So I started talking outloud to myself.

Upon arriving at my church I got out and opened the backdoor. I had already partially climbed in to unlock the carseat in the back before I realized there was nobody strapped in. I ambled to the sidewalk, never stopping to look at a rock or a bug or a weed poking out from the concrete. I didn't have to count heads, my pace wasn't broken by a skinned knee or a butterfly needing to be caught. Once inside I could sit where ever I pleased, not somewhere close to an exit. I didn't have to help anyone bless themselves. The woman sitting beside me asked if I attended regularly. Clearly, she was impressed to see a high school girl dutifully going to Mass alone. I explained I usually have three children with me, and I felt pangs of guilt as I did so.

I listened to every word that was said, answered each responsorial, actually prayed something besides Lord, just get me through the rest, please! I even got to smile fondly at the man who had to carry his squirming, talkative baby outside. I got to feel what it felt like to NOT be the one being smiled (or-more rarely-glared) at. My offering envelope was perfectly intact as there was nobody there to fight over who gets to put it in the basket. No bickering to quiet, no nose-picking, no Walk of Shame, no having to nurse someone...all this peace before the first reading.

Shhh--Don't tell anybody!! But I really did not enjoy myself. Children NEED to be at Mass just like the rest of us; even if they have to be taken out for a spanking three times. People asked where they were and I was ashamed to answer "Daddy has them at home". I appreciate that my hubby was trying to be helpful and do me a favor, and I shocked myself by drawing the conclusion that I would rather whether embarrassment and frustration than worship Christ alone, without my blessings beside me. (Or more accurately, under or on me.)

When I pulled up to my house, I was greeting by shouts of joy and smothered with wet baby kisses. The kids were happy to see me as well. As predicted, the two hours I was gone cost me approximately one afternoon of clean-up, one load of laundry, and $17 worth of groceries. The price was well-worth the lesson learned: bring the kids to church! Jesus wants them there!

My Man-In-Training

The Holy Spirit knows when I need a little something...I love, love, LOVE my little darlings. Most of the time. But it never fails-just when I feel I may fail as a mother, the Lord gives me something to hold onto and it helps me realize most of the things I get upset about are, well, stupid.

Today my hubby had to go into work for night #2 in a row of 4 this week. My middle child is the one with the shortest attention span, whom wakes every.single. night. and screams for 10 minutes, the one whom I can bathe and strap into his carseat and still will manage to be a sticky, dirty mess. He is also the most sensitive, generous child in the household. He gets very upset when his daddy has to go to work...

He asked the same thing he asks everyday: "Daddy work?" Upon hearing, "Yep, Daddy has to go to work to make money," he teared up and ran to his room. I, of course, am used to this scenario as it happens the same way each day. The tears are always genuine, but today was different: He emerged from his room with two fistfuls of change from his piggy bank and with the most hopeful expression, offered it to his father. I was fighting tears and my mentally challenged husband didn't get it. So I explained: "He gave you every cent he has thinking since you are going to work for money you will be able to stay home."

He should have called in sick! I know I don't do everything (even HALFthing) right, but moments like that make me realize I really need to get on the ball and help these munchkins use the gifts God gave them. I have been away too long...I'm ready to come back. And I owe it to my kids!

I had today planned out so nicely in my head: pack up my well-behaved, clean children and head to their favorite, never-crowded playground where we would put our $5 Little Caesar's pizza and drinks on the huge picnic table, and the wind would not blow our napkins away. But the 80% chance of severe thunderstorms called for 100% change of plans and we decided to make today a baking day.

I make banana bread frequently since I always have rotten overripe bananas around. The kids like to take turns putting the ingredients in the bowl, and more often than not they disappear until that magical moment when they get to lick the beaters clean. I have a rich fantasy life: in my imagination I have a clean home, kids with impeccable manners, and we have way more fun than everyone else. The upside to my sleep-deprivation is that it allows me just enough crazy to actually convince myself that this is halfway true...call it self-preservation!

In my head we have two loaves of bread-one for daddy to take to work and another for our breakfast tomorrow morning. My smiling children happily help me and do not fight at all. We all laugh together and after the bread bakes we sit with hot chocolate and watch the rain and no one spills anything. This is what really happened:

• I got the bowls and ingredients out and pulled a chair up to the counter so the kids could reach to "help". (After this part, it's all a blur, but Ill do my best...)
• Luke was standing at the sink (see previous post to read about his obsession with washing dishes). He was entertaining himself peacefully while the older two were getting ready to bake.
• They ambushed me. I know it was an ambush and not a series of unfortunate coincidences because it was too masterfully orchestrated.
• At this point Sarah must have given the imperceptible signal because in one instant Luke dumped a cup of water on the floor-he had backup cups ready to go because they kept coming one after another.
• As copious amounts of water flooded the floor my cat-like reflexes kicked in and I turned off the water and removed Luke from his battle station.
• My finely-tuned danger-radar alerted me to possible follow-up attacks and I spun around in time to see Patrick flinging my spices from the cabinet. Sarah was beside him, furiously scribbling the bottoms of my loaf pans with black marker.
• I went ninja on them and smacked their behinds before they knew it was coming. (Not to worry-if you think this can't be done, rest assured that with the dedication and sheer determination, you too will be able to spank multiple bottoms at one time.)
• Three hours (NOT including clean-up) later we really did have two yummy loaves of banana bread.

It was over as quickly as it started and they retreated to the playroom to plan the next ambush play with their toys. I started to let my guard down and relax a bit, even enjoying the moment...the smell of the loaves baking...the wind blowing the impending rain scent in through the open windows...and just how lucky I am to be able to take in moments like that.

We had two truckloads of firewood delivered (we like to light many fires during the winter). When the couple showed up to unload it in the carport Bonnie & Clyde (better known as Sarah and Patrick) morphed back into the heathen children they like to be in front of other people. I have spent many hours trying to figure out why they do that to me, but I have never come up with an answer. At first they just sat in the doorway, watching and talking between themselves. Then...they morphed. They started fighting like two starving dogs over one steak. I looked at the firewood people, rolled my eyes, and said in a hushed, secretive voice, "I can't wait till their mom comes to pick them up." I know, I know. But it was just one of those things...I blurted it out before really thinking about it. I'll do better tomorrow.

This was quite possibly the worst bread-making experience to date.

Last night I thought I would try to save time by letting the baby come into the shower with me so that I would only have the other two to take care of in the tub. So when he was nice and clean I put him in his cozy jammies (it has been cold the past few nights!) and combed his unruly hair and brushed his teeth. He was downright adorable.

I was so pleased with myself I decided to step it up a notch and I put toothpaste on the older children's toothbrushes so that all they'd have to do was come inside from playing and jump in the bath and everything would be all perfect and ready. Well they had other plans as usual and while I was bust preparing (thinking I was on top of things) they jumped in the hot tub. I heard the noise so I checked on them (I have no problem with them playing in there-it is shallow and they are all able to swim, plus I can see them clearly from the kitchen/living room). Sigh...

So I obviously had to change his PJs and get him into a new diaper. After that was over I had to hang up his wet clothes and while I was doing that (no more than 30 seconds, I swear!), I don't know how he managed to get a hold of a candle, but he did. Don't worry-it wasn't lit. But it was covered in soot, which he smeared all over his face when he wiped his eyes. I had to scrub him clean again-candle smudge is surprisingly hard to get off of skin. Right after declaring him acceptable for bed, he pooped. So much for saving time!

Not A Baker

We decided to make cookies since the kids really wanted to go to the park, but I didn't feel like getting dressed beyond my embarrassing "home" clothes. It was chilly today so it felt like the perfect thing to do; open the windows and doors and let the oven warm the kitchen while we smell yummy cookies baking and eat more batter than we should.

I followed the recipe to the letter-did everything exactly as it was written. Just like I always do. And just like always-they turned out terribly. I cannot even describe my cookies...Let me try: they are nasty looking, but taste okay (most of the time!). They are somehow an unnatural combination of too soft and too hard while taking on a heinous shape that does NOT in any way resemble a cookie. Usually what we wind up with is little chunks of somewhat-tasty hard (yet soft?)...stuff.

Sarah wouldn't even try them. She looked at the mangled mess on the counter and made a face and walked away, thoroughly disgusted. My sweet middle child decided to eat them, but judging from the pile I found behind the couch I'm guessing he wasn't as impressed as he led me to believe. Luke just kept grabbing them and marching directly to the trash can. Once again my hours of mixing, measuring, and trying so so hard was fruitless. Cookies are the one thing I cannot ever get right no matter what.

**Update: I decided to let the older children watch TV for a bit before bed under the condition that they would watch in silence. (They baby is already asleep-for now.) Par for the course-they blew it and I made them go to bed with the TV off. Patrick was very perturbed by this and started to cry. In between sobs he told me, "YOUR COOKIES ARE YUCKY!! I TRIED THEM AND THEY ARE YUCK!!". HAHAHA...I swear I am not making that up. I stopped writing my post about my inability to bake cookies and my son insulted them as the worst thing he could think of to say to me while he was angry. heehee Just had to add that.